Silver Glass
by The Giant Daifuku
Summary: When Balthier took a job from a mysterious employer, he found more than he bargained for when he recieved his reward. Now wandering Ivalice 1000 years in the future, can he find his way home? More importantly, why does his chest ache all the time?
1. When All Turns to Silver Glass

NOT RELATED TO THE WORLD TRAVELER SERIES.

This first chapter is dedicated to **fallacies** and **ElTangoDeRoxanne** who apparently squealed like a little girl when she heard I was doing this. Also, fallacies put so much effort into making a timeline and making sure I understand this that if I did not do this story, I would feel a sorry girl indeed.

The start of this story (the first section between the dividers) is exactly my story **Juxtaposition**. The rest is different.

I've never played War of the Lions, so if I get something wrong, or if I seem confused, _please_let me know! However, this chapter will not yet deal with WOL yet, so don't call me out yet, please :D.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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_Balthier's Log, page 1_

_I am not sure what the date is- but what I do know is that it is the year 726 Old Valendian. I am forty-two years old, and Fran reckons I ought to retire from the active life of pirating and settle down. She is right, I think, but I am too proud to ever admit it. I have agreed to take a rest after this last job, and I think I will keep to that promise. The job involves one of my favorite substances- auracite. I assure you that I am joking, however. I wish I could wash my hands of magickal rocks and be done with it, but fate does not seem to be willing to let it rest. This last job is to find the Ensanguined Jewel of the Cache of Glabados. If nothing comes of this, I shall lay down my gun and become a Kiltias.  
_

_-B_

Balthier lay back in a bed of moss, for once not caring that the wet, feathery tendrils left long, rich green smears on the back of his satin vest. Through a narrow hole where he had a clear view of the high, free sky, dark clouds scuttled across the frame of needles the trees created. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with moist, woody air, shivering as the chill penetrated deep inside him. He was cold, by the Gods, how he was cold— not even the golden sunlight reflecting off his bronzed cheek lent him any heat. It was as if the clouds, dissatisfied with simply attempting to obscure the cerulean blue heavens, decided instead to cast their grey pall into the sunshine, rendering even the most glorious beam lifeless and shallow.

The wind, heartless and bitter but welcome company, stirred the tree branches directly over his head, and fiery red leaves cascaded about his body, brushing against his chest and fingertips—their vibrant colors did not warm him either. The light of the sun that had so briefly filled the leaves with life had been extinguished, snuffed out by the breath of the cruel wind. Now, they scattered, hither and thither, strange, sad little corpses on a foreign battlefield, soon to be trampled underfoot.

One came to rest against a proud, flamboyantly crimson and yellow mushroom, growing from a fallen log. How ironic it was, he mused, that the places of death and decay bore the most nutrients and riches for life. Tiny, late flowers, petals delicate shades of pink, purple, and yellow, nodded their heads at him, showing off their joyous colors.

But not all the log's sorrows had been erased by rebirth. By its roots, a bunch of poisonous berries grew, their red sheen both enticing and warning at the same time. Balthier laughed at nature's twisted sense of humor.

He was interrupted in his mirth by the urgent, aggressive baying of an Imperial Hound close by. In a flash of gold and jade green satin, white silk and brown leather, he was gone, leaving nature to mask the scent of gun smoke, sweat, and metal that he left behind.

* * *

"Perhaps you misunderstand, Pirate." The Judge was sealed completely in shell-like armor that reflected his personality- sharp ridges, spiny plates, pointed angles. "You put your trust all too easily in those who are not interested in your reward, but their own."

"No, no, I understand those people perfectly. You, for example, are one such man. Are the Imperial coffers not paying well enough for your tastes? Now let us look at me— I believe in profit and reward at another's expense. We are not too different, but it is not as if I expected any reward from _you_ but a cold, dank prison cell at the end of the road." Balthier smirked, all wit and sparkling charm.

"I admire your impudence, scoundrel, but men like you are well known for… losing their heads in tenuous situations." The threat made a faint whooshing noise as it passed over the pirate's head. He did not care, shrugging as he brushed off the Judge's barb with practiced nonchalance.

"You have the humor of the average household vegetable, your honor—" he pronounced the title with sarcasm dripping off his tongue like poison— "That is to say, none at all. If you wish my head to fall, you'd best get it over with quickly. I am not a patient man— reckless even, one might say…"

The Judge bristles— Balthier's jabs are getting to him, almost like a physical blade sliding through the cracks in his armor. His ire threatens to spill over and he is tempted to separate the pirate's glib tongue from his head right there. The pirate seems to know the inner turmoil he is causing, and stirs the pot even further.

"As much as I hate waiting for the blow to fall, your master would be displeased if you did something horrible to me. He wants to question me about the parcel doesn't he? I suppose I can see what this delay is about then, and it certainly is not for my amusement." Balthier shifted his weight onto one leg as he lounged against the tall columns of the waiting room.

"It's to remind you of your place, thief. That he holds your life in his hands, and can choose to drop you any moment he likes!" the Judge exploded. "You had best keep a civil tongue in your head when you talk to him!" He is fast losing his temper, if he has not already, and when the pirate is finally ushered into the throne room to meet with his employer, the cheeky rogue gives him a jaunty wave with cuffed hands.

"I'll keep that in mind; thanks for the tip."

His employer is a rich lord, and his room is like a cavern; a high, vaulted ceiling vanishes into the darkness, supported by a forest of carved, black marble columns. The lord waits in a straight-backed throne made of stone, also black, an imposing thing covered in red velvet. For a moment, a log covered in flowers and red, poisonous berries flashes through the pirate's mind. This man, he thinks, is like the berries, surrounded by beauty but rotten to the core. But, if this man is the toxic fruit of society's rich, heady flowers, he will find that Balthier is a serpent whose venom is of an even more treacherous stock. And that serpent is now coiled, waiting for its chance to strike, hidden beneath the flowers.

The lord, sitting in his chair, smiles, turning a blood red gem over and over in his hands. They are like greedy spiders, not worthy of touching such a thing, the pirate muses, and decides he must once again liberate the jewel, just as he did before. But for now, he waits— this serpent's fangs are not close enough. Not quite yet.

* * *

Balthier lay back in a bed of hay, shifting slightly to dislodge the ragged points of the dry quills that jabbed into his back, neck and shoulders like tiny spears. A new brand burned on his chest, outlined thickly in black ink and treated by the prison doctor, no longer wept blood and puss, but twinged painfully if he moved too much. Turning his head to the side, he could look out a barred window and see the sky, where clouds grey as the iron bars caging him stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, not even allowing him one ray of sympathetic, freezing sunshine.

It was unbearably hot, and the thick stone walls shut out the cool wind that might relieve him with its caress. Pain tugged at his breast again, scattering his thoughts and throwing them into stagnant air of his cell, and he struggled to bring them back. He would have had an easier time catching butterflies in this condition than he would the fragmented pieces of his fraying psyche. Deep within him, Mateus chuckled cruelly at his host's absentmindedness, while Zodiark simply made a sound that expressed his worry. Zodiark was such a sweet child, cursed by the gods to remain as such for all eternity. Balthier did his best to maintain what was left of the creature's innocence. Sometimes, he forgot it was over one thousand years old.

Balthier wondered how many more spiritual bodies his own could handle before it exploded— three entities: his own, Zodiark's, and Mateus's, barely seemed to fit. His mind wandered again.

He was grounded, a fierce eagle who had scraped his bronze wingtips against the sky and was promptly flung back to earth for his sin, wings torn and shredded. Reduced to a venomous serpent, low and out of sight but— he smiled obtusely as the brand on his chest seared with pain, screaming _heretic!_ He was still dangerous, nonetheless. _Heretic! Heretic!_ the brand screamed.

In the process of rolling over into a more comfortable position, a few stray lances of straw stabbed into his face, and he blew them away, scattering them across the cell like his thoughts scattered into the air, with a noise like the rattle of dry bones. Was it his bones rattling across the floor?

_Concentrate, Ffamran. You are delirious. The doctor has not treated you well_, Zodiark whispered. Mateus cackled again. Balthier forced himself to focus on the path of the straw. They piled in the darkest, dankest corner, by a ghostly white mushroom. Even in the deepest sea of neglect, this privateer of death and misfortune stood as proud as its counterpart in the sunlit forest. He nodded to the mushroom, fancying it nodded back, showering it with the green and gold of his own person, the loud colors just as alluring and dangerous as poison red. Mateus shrieked with laughter.

In the company of a toxic mushroom, a serpent readied its fangs beneath flowers of pink, purple, and yellow, preparing to strike at those who would reap the beauty of the petals for themselves and leave dry spears in the place of moist tendrils and feather softness. When the guards approached to bring him to his second audience with the red-enthroned lord, his fangs were positively dripping venom.

Mateus the Corrupt no longer screamed his cold, high-pitched laugh— he purred with pleasure at his host's thoughts. Zodiark shifted again, whimpering.

* * *

"Tell me, what do you know of this jewel?" the lord on his black and red throne holds the crimson gem up to the light, admiring the rich color that seems to swallow the sunlight.

"It is red like the arcane blood shed for its creation. It holds power of the like to destroy the world three times over in an inferno of licking flame and rolling shadow. It is terrible and beautiful— and it was a pain to steal." Balthier shrugged, lowering his eyes in a submissive manner. The chains about his hands and feet rattled when he lowered himself to his knees. Balthier forced himself to think that it was his leathers, stiff from filth, creaking, and not his knees. He really was too old to be cavorting about dungeons and stealing wildly powerful treasures.

Smiling, the lord sucked in the faked respect and rose to his feet, crossing the room with his long stride in order to stand before his prisoner. What did he have to fear? The pirate had withered away after weeks— or months— in a dark prison cell. His cheeks are pale and hollow, and his vest, which had once fit snuggly to his well muscled sides, scrapes against scrawny ribs and dirty flesh.

"Look me in the eye, little brigand. Tell me why you ran, why we found you league upon league upon league from Bervenia in the Salikawood. If you had come like we agreed, you would have spared yourself all this nastiness." His warm spider hand danced by the pirate's ear, where a multitude of silver earrings hung, and the thief's breath hitched at the repulsive touch.

"I am such a scoundrel, aren't I?" he purred for lack of a better answer— one that the lord would want to hear, at any rate. Balthier glanced toward the lord's face with sunken eyes glazed with exhaustion and neglect. The lord's expression changed from condescending aloofness to livid rage in a heartbeat, his face flushing red as his ill begotten jewel— his fingers close about an earring, a thin silver twist, and yank. The pirate flinched, blood spattering his face, running down his neck. The lord's hand moved to finger a gold hoop earring, brushing the torn lobe, before scratching at a nick on the ridge of his ear. The old scar reawakens under the persistent worry of the lord's fingers, blood coagulating in his ear, joining the thin stream trickling down his neck. He shifted his position slightly, his knees— no, his leathers, his leathers!— creaking.

In his rage, the lord missed the dangerous glint in the blackguard's eye. It is quickly suppressed, buried under a blanket of feigned languidness. "You would be wise not to try me. I am of a mind to execute you for breaking our deal. The only reward you will get from me is a length of rope or an iron sword screwed into your filthy guts!" the lord snarled, spittle flying from his lips. Balthier merely bowed his head, shaking it in refusal.

"No thank you— I would rather have a different reward. One of more value." His voice is smooth as silk and dark as night.

"And what might that be?" the lord stoops to the pirate's level, grabbing a fistful of filthy, golden hair and forcing him to meet his infuriated gaze.

"Your life, and the jewel," is the simple reply— and Balthier's hands are around the lord's throat, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, and under his fingers he can feel the thick sluggish pulse, the wellspring of life he is choking with this treacherous serpents coils. He leaned forward, close enough to smear blood, red as poisonous berries, against the lord's cheek. "Thank you for your patronage, my lord," he breathed. To his great consternation, the lord smiled, saying in a voice not his own—

_Nay, thank you for your work._ The guards roughly jerked Balthier off him, and the lord rose to his feet, massaging his throat, wiping off blood, and straightening his crumpled suit. _You want the jewel? Take it, please, for what need have I for the ensanguined jewel from the Cache of Glabados?_ He pulled the gem from his pocket, attached to a golden chain, and fastened it about Balthier's neck. The lord turned toward a steward standing in the corner. _Bring our little pirate friend his affects, he at least needs a fighting chance where he is going. Send his vest to his partner. She at least ought to have some reconciliation._

"So you really are going to execute me. Took you long enough to make up your mind." Balthier spat as a guard roughly tossed the straps to his gun and hip pouches over his head.

_Death lies at the end of all roads. We have no more use for you, but the Espers you house within your body are much more lucrative business partners. It is a shame you cannot be separated with the technology we have today, but perhaps in the future…_ the lord settled himself back upon his blood red throne, folding his spider hands across his lap. _Do it._

Balthier barely had time to turn before there was the loud report of gunshots that rang through the high vaulted cavern, and pain lanced through his aching chest. All turned to white light and silver glass, shattering around him, as the red jewel of the Cache of Glabados burned at the pit of his throat.

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Review, please!


	2. Heretic in a Holy Place

Thanks, **ElTangoDeRoxanne!**

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_Balthier's Log, page 2_

_I do not think I am going to be a Kiltias. Not only have I been branded by one of the Kiltian sect, but just as I predicted, _something_ happened, but what, I do not know. The Jewel the lord put around my neck is gone, shattered into a million pieces that I shall never recover even if Heth himself charged me with the task. I shall have to find another way to obtain more auracite if I want to get home, it seems, and as I have said, I am far too old to be gallivanting after magickal rocks. If I never see nethicite, magicite, or auracite again, I shall die happy._

_-B_

He did not know how long he wandered the Mist. How many lifetimes of Humes passed before his eyes? He was nothing more than a thread of conscious thought among the buffeting flow of time and Mist, the slightest wisp of intention in the wind. He saw, in a strange way of unseeing and seeing, mountains crumble, lakes form, and rivers dry. He saw the city of his birth wither to dust. At that point, he stopped caring— he allowed the floes of time to swallow him up.

From time to time, Mateus, woven into the fiber of his being, stirred, whispering words of corruption to the Humes they occasionally encountered as they drifted through the Mist. Zodiark whimpered, fearing he had done something wrong. Balthier simply watched as the men they met were condemned for one thing or another and sentenced to death. Mateus cackled joyfully.

During one day (or was it year?) of nonexistence, Balthier began to feel a tug on his strand of being. Unable to resist even if he cared enough to do so, he was dragged through the ether and down from his lofty height in the clouds of Ivalice so fast he wondered if Zodiark and Mateus had been left behind.

He slammed into a cold floor in an incredibly dark room. Freezing air filled his lungs as he struggled to breathe after a millennium of inactivity, and the pebbles on the floor bit into his skin like living creatures. The sudden shock of being able to _feel_ again was so great that it was painful— his skin was burning and freezing all at once from the conflicting information assaulting his senses, the pit of his throat was raw, and his chest ached as if a giant had taken him in its huge fist and began squeezing. His back arched as he writhed, screaming in agony, and sensing his panic and confusion, Zodiark screamed, too. Mateus screamed with the thrill of being alive once more. When he was finally able to comprehend anything beyond his body's distress, his first coherent thought was:

_Where am I?_

He sat up, gun rattling as it dragged against the ground, chains dragging across his lap and rasping together. Just as he remembered when he was last in a position to have cohesive thoughts, chains bound his hands and feet together. A little natural lighting filtered through chinks in the walls, he now saw, and he could see that he was in a room surrounded by oblong rectangular boxes. He seemed to be sitting inside one such box with an open lid. When he shifted, something rattled beneath him, a moist, crunching noise. He looked down.

A brown, mummified skull, mandible open at a grotesque angle, screamed at him in the dark.

Balthier's heart pounded painfully as he leaped up, chains clashing, and promptly tumbled out of the box he had been sitting in. No, he amended himself. Not box. Sarcophagus. When he looked around more carefully, he realized that he was in a crypt, surrounding by rows and rows of marble coffins with engraved lids. The pebbles that had bit at his skin were not pebbles, but bones. Morbidly curious, he examined the mummy in the open sarcophagus. Its ribs had been shattered in several places by bullets, it seemed, and the expression it wore on its rotten face was one of great pain and suffering. Its shriveled hands were twisted as if grasping for life, frozen at an angle slightly away from the body as if raised to ward off whatever fate had awaited it. Balthier shivered, backing away from the coffin and its occupant. The dust was too thick to read who it was, but he offered a prayer to whomever it had been, apologizing for his rudeness, as seemed proper, considering the situation. With a grunt, (his muscles screamed in protest, for he had not used them for an age) he shoved the lid back over the tomb, and made his way toward the exit.

It was locked. He could not stop himself from moaning in slight terror at the thought of being trapped in the cold crypt with multitudes of corpses as he tugged at the door futilely. Chains on the other side rattled— he could not open the door! He swore he heard something shifting behind him, whispers in the dark.

"I say, did you hear that?" a voice! Filling with hope, he pounded on the door with all his might.

"I do believe someone is locked inside the crypt," a second voice said, and he heard shuffling footsteps on the other side.

"There are lots of people locked inside the crypt, and for good reason," the first voice said grimly.

"But what if one of _ours_ is locked in there? Then what?" the second returned.

"Very well," the first sighed, and there was the sound of bolts drawing back. When the door opened, he positively tumbled out of the crypt and almost onto a very surprised pair of women who looked to be nuns. His mind scrambled for a story to tell them should they ask what he was doing— which they did.

"There was a person in there, and a _man_ nonetheless!" the first nun cried, clapping a hand over her breast.

"Whate_ver _were you doing in there?" the second asked, helping him up. Balthier was so thin that her hand could fit about his entire wrist, and he grimaced.

"I…" he licked his chapped lips. "I was visiting a relative there, and was so deep in prayer I forgot where I was, and got locked in," he said quickly.

"You were visiting a relative while strung up in chains and armed with a… whatever that is?" the first nun's eyebrows threatened to vanish into her head cover. He glanced down at his shackles blandly.

"Yes," he conceded at last, lamely. "I am a prisoner, you see, but I have decided to change my evil ways and seek penance in the church."

"Oh, you _dear_!" the second nun squealed unbecomingly. "You must be famished, then, you must be! I don't know what they've been giving you in that prison, but you must be _ravenous!_ Come, let's get some tuck into you, and then we'll find you a bed where you can rest."

"My thanks," Balthier bowed, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. When they passed a mirror, he stopped to stare at the stranger that looked back.

It was definitely him, albeit very scruffy and _very_ thin compared to what he last remembered, but he had grown younger. The man staring back at him was _not_ forty-two— he was in his early twenties. "Is something wrong?" the first nun looked at him curiously.

"Of course there is, he looks frightful thin and dirty. He probably hasn't seen himself properly for ages," the second gushed.

"No, I haven't," he murmured, tearing his gaze away from the mirror. "But, let us talk about some food, hm? And perhaps a bath as well?"

"Oh yes," the nuns jumped, and he followed them into a kitchen. "I am afraid the cook has gone to bed, but if you go bathe first, we can get you something ready?"

Balthier allowed the second nun to lead him to a simple bathroom. The place reminded him vaguely of a castle, though he was willing to guess by the nuns that it was a cathedral. As soon as she left, he stripped of his clothing (though it was difficult because of the irons still clapped about his wrists and ankles) and sank into the tub with a contented sigh.

Content quickly turned to horror as he beheld the crest on the changing screen. His gaze darted to the brand on his chest. They were the same. This was a church of the Kiltias, and he was a heretic. Should the brand be discovered, he would be killed. Forcing himself to remain calm as to not look suspicious, he hastily finished bathing and pulled on his shirt and pants, easily finding his way back to the kitchen.

"Pardon me, my dears, but I have forgotten some paperwork that needed to be filled out before I could leave the prison for good. I shall return, ne'er fear," Balthier bowed, hand over his heart to hide the mark, lest they saw it.

"You can't leave before you've eaten!" the second nun objected, but he shook his head.

"It is a most urgent matter," he lied easily, turning to leave. "If I do not attend to it, they would be able to haul me back, and that would not be good, hmm?"

As soon as he was outside of the church and in the night air, he darted down the nearest street, chains clashing hideously loud in his ears. His gun banged off his back, and his pouches thumped off his legs. His breath rasped in his throat, and his chest and heart burned. He did not know how long he ran, or how far he ran, but he did not stop until the cathedral was far behind. Then he sank to his knees, chest heaving, and vomited into a nearby gutter.

_Ffamran,_ Zodiark murmured, concern touching his tone. _Please, you're scaring me._

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I am frightened, that is all. This is not good, not good at all. Instead of getting away from our pursuers, we have tumbled straight into their trap."

_Then let us away._ Mateus cooed. _The world is a big place. There are other places to go._

"Go where?" Balthier snarled. "Where is _here_?"

"Ser?" he whirled, only to find a young girl standing in the moonlight. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, though perhaps you could enlighten me a little, my dear?" he smiled.

"Of course, anything you need, ser." The young girl bobbed a curtsy, and Balthier found himself intrigued by her accent.

"Where am I?" he asked. "Start at the very top— what is this place called?"

The girl looked startled, but obliged. "You are in Ivalice, the year is one-thousand-nine-hundred, and you are in the Free City of Bervenia," she said sarcastically.

"Pardon?"


	3. False Leads and True Stories

Thanks to all those that reviewed; **fallacies, emeraldonyxdragon, **and **ElTangoDeRoxanne**! …zzzzzzzzz… I am taking care of a friend's cat in my house, and he doesn't get along with mine. As a result, I am very sleep deprived nowadays… Ugh… Well, at least I got _something_ out, I'll make the next one better…

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_Balthier's Log, page 3_

_I have just discovered that I am still in Ivalice, but roughly twelve-hundred years in the future. Did that much time really pass? What have I been doing all this time? I have concluded that my last experience in the hall of my employer and what followed was the phenomenon of time travel, though I would fain lay hands on how he figured out how to do it. Bugger, but it is so mind numbing what auracite can do._

_When I asked about the church, the girl said it was the Church of Glabados. The infant Ajora spoke of plagued wells in Lesalia and warned the people, and those who listened, lived. He formed a group of followers as a broken-off sect of the Pharist Kiltias, which is what they have dubbed the Kiltias of my time. However, she says that the Germonique records will say something quite different— that what it says is blasphemy and that I should not read it. What could it say that would damage the church so much? _

_My little informant also spoke of the Cache of Glabados, a treasure of the church that has been guarded since Ajora came upon it twelve-hundred years ago. If it has happened yet in my time, I have heard naught of it, but perhaps it would be a worthy pillaging venture in the future? Either way, the fables say that it is ridiculously powerful, and I'm a cactaur's uncle if it's not auracite. Thus, I have decided to travel to Dorter in order to obtain this treasure and return home. May their Saint Ajora help those who get in a sky pirate's way._

_-B_

* * *

The Chocobo warbled softly as Balthier led it stealthily from the pen, looking at him with questing eyes. He always fancied there was something intelligent in the big, yellow birds, and as this one followed him with almost utmost silence, he was convinced of the cause. The Chocobo warbled slightly louder as he swung onto its back, the chains on his ankles clinking. He really had to think about getting those off; as it was, he was forced to ride sidesaddle with a long, filched travelling cloak covering his shackles. Balthier tugged his hood over his face, urging the Chocobo into a canter through the Bervenian streets. There were no guards at the gate, just as the little girl had said.

_The night watch is the least watchful, and it is easy to slip through while they are drunk on wine and deep in sleep. We li'l ones sneak out that way all the time, ser._

He galloped through, unobstructed, and onto the empty plain. Free, his heart pounded. Free! _Heretic_, the brand screamed. _Heretic!_ Prisoner, the chains jingled on his arms and legs. Prisoner.

_We are no one's prisoner, Ffamran. Imagine that! Here, no one knows us, or our deeds! We're free!_ Zodiark exclaimed ecstatically. Balthier shook his head, and Mateus snorted.

_For the most powerful Esper, you're rather dense at times, you know? Weren't you reading Ffamran's diary? We are going to commit crime again!_ he snapped. Balthier groaned, shaking his head again.

"Both of you have missed the point. It's not a _diary_, Mateus, it's a _log_. There is a difference, you know. And we are stealing for a good cause, Zodiark: so that we can go home." Balthier consulted a pinched map. "Wouldn't you like to do that?"

_I suppose so,_ Zodiark mumbled. _But must we steal?_

"I am a sky pirate, and theft is what I do best. Come now, do not be down! Did not you choose me as your host, even though I already held Mateus, because you wanted adventure? Let us make something of this opportunity!" Balthier gestured to the countryside bouncing by, and Zodiark cheered considerably. However, Mateus sniggered as Balthier's stomach growled.

_Before you go off on any adventures, perhaps getting some food is in order? _He asked. Balthier glanced down at his stomach. He had become painfully lean, and his wrists so thin his shackles no longer fit snuggly to them, bouncing up and down with the Chocobo's loping gait. There was no game, as the road was often filled with throngs of people that frightened away all living things for miles. He had not eaten for days, and he was willing to bet he was about to wither away all together.

So far, Balthier was not impressed by the future Ivalice. There were no airships, for one, and all the cities he had come across were little more than shantytowns (he was too cautious to get into the larger cities yet). Later, by hanging around the various churches and cathedrals, he was able to discover where and when auracite shipments would be moved, and most of the time, it was easy to steal the cargo before it was even moved. A bit of sleeping drug in a wine jug here, the occasional spell there, and off he went, pockets full of auracite and still more rattling in a small crate tied to his stolen Chocobo. But it was never the Cache, and so he stole still more.

Balthier quickly learned the art of walking silently in chains, and once, when backed into a corner, he'd looped his wrist shackles about his attacker's neck and strangled him. But still, the chains were a hassle, and finally, he was presented with a wonderful chance to get them off.

* * *

The Merchant City of Dorter was not much to look at. Granted, he had arrived in the slums with plans for intercepting another church transport, but still, he had seen cleaner sties than the Dorter Market Place. Having gained a bit of infamy through his attacks on the church transports, he crept through the filthy back alleys to avoid recognition, slipping and sliding in muck (which contained material he did not know or want to think about) until he was almost covered from head to foot. When he slipped in another puddle of sludge, three young boys and a little girl forded the flood and stood over him.

"Looky, look! It's a mud flan!" the girl said, pointing at him.

"Ew, he smells!" one of the boys screamed.

"He's too skinny to be a flan, ya idjit!" the third snapped. The last boy, and the youngest, simply sucked his thumb, regarding the pirate with beady eyes. Balthier spat out a mouthful of something delightful and glared at them balefully, heaving himself out of the puddle. How he _loathed_ children.

"I am _not_ a flan, darling. And if you'd be so kind as to move, I'll just be on my way." He said, making to brush passed them, but stopped when the girl smartly placed her foot on his leg irons, almost making him fall again.

"You're a prisoner, ain't cha?" she asked.

Balthier paused.

_Lie_, Mateus whispered.

_Tell the truth_, Zodiark urged. Balthier knuckled his forehead as a jolt of pain seared behind it.

"Shut up, both of you. You two are a lot more vocal ever since we got here, you know? Did something happen?"

Silence on their end. His chest began to hurt.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

_Later, Ffamran. We'll tell you later. But for now, 'ware the children._ Mateus said, uncharacteristically gentle. Balthier realized that the children were staring at him as if he were mad.

_Just like my dear old dad, though he was not, really,_ he thought. _If only he could see what I do now— talking to voices in my head, too._ To his relief, the suddenly talkative espers did not respond.

"Yes," he said to the children. "I was a prisoner, but I am free now."

The girl tapped her foot on the leg irons. "Why ya still got on chains?"

"I haven't gotten the chance to get them off."

Something glittered in the second boy's eyes. "If we get 'em off fer you, would ya tell us a story? Something adventurous, that mum and da and the church would never want us to hear?" he jumped up and down, splashing mud everywhere. "You're a criminal, so you _must_ know something!" the third boy nodded, sucking his thumb.

A story in exchange for freedom? Simple enough. "Agreed." Balthier nodded, and the children suddenly grabbed his hands and dashed away. When they finally reached their destination, Balthier was thanking his lucky stars that somehow, he had regained his youth; certainly, it would have been no good if he had done all that running at forty-two years of age.

"Here we are!" the first little boy said, pointing to the shop. Balthier raised his eyebrows.

"A machinist's shop?" he asked, touching the door with the flat of his hand. He could feel the hum of machinery under his gloved palm, but when he pressed his ear to the door, he could hear no voices.

"It's closed fer now, 'cuz it's a holiday t'day." The girl said. Balthier gave the door a thief's assessment— it was locked by a large padlock.

"Is it now?" he asked absently.

"Yup. Ya sure don't know a lot, do you?" the girl asked.

"No, I'm afraid not," he murmured, tracing a spell for ice on the padlock. With a whisper, frost formed on the metal, and he simply jerked it off.

"Wow," the second boy breathed, "What were ya in for?"

Balthier could not stop a smirk from creeping over his face at the young boy's awe. He was reminded of Vaan, just with (hopefully) a little less stupidity. "Sky Piracy," he said simply, then mentally kicked himself as he pushed open the door. Just as he expected, the little girl looked at him scornfully.

"There's not been an airship in the sky fer a million-billion years," she scoffed.

"You carrot! It's only twelve-hundred years! Don't you pay attention in class?" the second boy slapped her in the back of the head. Balthier sighed.

"Once, there were airships, and once there were sky pirates. Do you know what they are?" he examined the machines, studiously unimpressed by the future's technology. He could see at least three places where he could improve the efficiency of the machines.

"Of course we do!" the girl cried. "There's Bane of Rats, Dancing Antelope, the Ax of the Wood, and Saint Balthazar and—"

"Ax of the Wood and Saint Balthazar?" Balthier asked, immediately thrown on alert.

"Aye! Ax of the Wood was a Viera, and her partner Saint Balthazar was the most famous sky pirate to fly the skies!"

Fran… he put things together. Fran of the Wood—Francesca, Francesca was also the name of an _ax_, and thus, her name had been perverted into Ax of the Wood. He abruptly started laughing as he started a machine running, watching the gears rattle. As for Balthazar, that person was clearly himself. Silly, that he should think with such notoriety that he would _not_ go down in history. However, something bothered him— _Saint? _

"D'you want us to tell you about them?" the girl asked, oblivious to his discomfort. Balthier dangled his chains into the gearbox, where the teeth shattered his bonds.

"I'd rather you didn't," he said blandly, stretching a leg up to repeat the process. He thought the girl looked vaguely disappointed.

"Well, you tell us a story!" the girl said. "We've held up our end of the deal, now you hold up yours."

They led him to a side street away from the main thoroughfare, and perched on boxes and crates while he sat on a barrel, filing off the cuffs and the broken chains.

"Well…" he began, and the children bounced up and down excitedly. "There is a particularly nasty story I could tell you about V— Bane of Rats," he corrected himself. "It is true, of course."

"How—" the girl began, but the third boy finally took his thumb out of his mouth.

"I wanna hear the story!" he cried, and Balthier smiled wryly. At least he had an avid audience.

"You probably know that V— Bane of Rats was a sky pirate, hm? He was very good friends with Balthazar, and they often went on hunts and expeditions together. One day, Balthazar played a very mean trick on Bane of Rats."

"What did he do?" the second boy asked. Balthier found himself distracted by a group of clergymen walking by, loudly arguing about the next shipment of auracite. His grip tightened on the file as the conversation turned to heretics.

"He said that there was a legendary white Chocobo," he said. "It only appeared when other Chocobo were in trouble. Now, Balthazar had just accepted a hunt for such a bird, and figured that Bane of Rats could pose as a hurt Chocobo and run through Bur-Omisace to attract the thing. Naturally, not being too bright, he agreed to Balthazar's plan— did the white Chocobo ever appear? No. Did Balthazar still make a fearsome amount of Gil? Oh yes, he did, and thus, he still made money even without hunting the bird." Balthier smirked, and one of the children began giggling.

"Balthazar sounds really smart. He had a bet, didn't he?" The children were awestruck by his cleverness. Or maybe horrified by his dishonesty. He couldn't really tell, children were all the same to him. Either way, he'd told them a story (even if it wasn't the best) and he was ready to be on his way.

"And now, my dears, I bid you farewell— I have pressing business to attend to, so I'll just be off."

* * *

Balthier lay on the roof of a warehouse adjacent to the caravan, mud smeared on the barrel of his gun to stop the moonlight from reflecting off it. For once, he did not have to think about rattling chains as he loaded bullets into the rifle. Several monks surrounded the box of auracite, but he was more concerned about the knights nearby— especially the blonde one. The other knights were capable, but this one seemed especially dangerous. Balthier rubbed his eyes. All the auracite was taking a toll on him— sometimes he felt as if it was trying to speak to him and other times, it was silent as stone. Mateus and Zodiark would still not tell him what was going on, nor would they allow him to summon them, even in a pinch. He was not ready, they said. They did not want to hurt him.

"Oh for—" he snarled at last, aiming his gun and sniping the first soldier. The man fell, blood and brains pouring out of his head. Leaping from the rooftop, he kicked the crate of auracite from the Chocobo's back, but to his chagrin and rage, found it was empty. "No!" he whispered, standing over the empty crate. "A decoy!"

"Tha's right, and now you'll die— heretic!" one knight closed in on him, but Balthier noticed the blonde knight's eyes had widened fractionally before he turned his Chocobo and galloped away.

"Oy, Ramza! Where are ya goin'?" the leader shouted. The knight, Ramza, did not respond. "Mercenaries…"

"Can't trust a mercenary, hm? Neither can you trust a pirate to fight fair!" Balthier tackled the knight off his mount, smashing his face with the butt of his gun. Red blood coated his hands. Blood red like poison, and heavy with the scent of treachery. Balthier's chest exploded with pain, and he jumped up, gasping, before opting out of battle to flee down the nearest alleyway. It would be too narrow for the chocobos to follow, and by the time they found a street, he would be long gone. Something wet and sticky ran over his stomach, and he quickly lifted his shirt to inspect his torso.

Scars he did not remember having on his chest had reopened, blood trickling from the wounds. He pressed a hand over them, closing his eyes and willing himself to breathe evenly. Magick did not work if you panicked, of course.

_Ffamran,_ Mateus rose closer to the surface of his mind. The air cooled rapidly. _Let me tell you something. Zodiark and I have felt changes in the Mist of this Ivalice, and summoning us will no longer be the same._

"Shut up." Balthier said. "I'm trying to concentrate, and you're not helping."

_Just keep our warning in mind, okay?_ Zodiark asked nervously. Balthier felt his heart melting for the creature. Mentally, he patted it on the head.

"Of course, kid," he murmured. Mateus swam closer to the edge of his mind, where mentality bordered reality. Frost began to rim the wounds, freezing the blood and stemming the flow.

_You owe me, Ffamran._ Mateus said as he sank back into the depths. Slightly perturbed, Balthier examined a frozen patch apprehensively.

"I'll remember that," he took a deep breath, leaning his head back against the wall and cursing his ill luck. "A false lead…"

* * *

Okee…


	4. The Kinslayer

This is actually a semi-long chapter. I wrote it at 3:00 this morning because I couldn't sleep from the painkiller medication. Well, thanks to **ElTangoDeRoxanne**, **fallacies**, and **emeraldonyxdragon**. Tango-chan, you wanted to know why summoning Espers is a bad thing— and you will find out. Next chapter. As for the comments from Dragon-san and fallacies-san, yes, the famous Saint Balthy is very interesting, isn't it? We will get around to that, too. Not in the next chapter, though, sorry.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

_Balthier's Log, page 4_

_Since when are Espers able to physically affect the environment around them without being summoned? I swear that Mateus is enjoying freezing me half-to-death every time that I am injured now. Those two… they must be hiding something. They have started to affect me, as well. Mateus clamors for cold food and Zodiark wants sweets. I have managed to tame both for now with a promise of Ice Cream or something of the like, and thus, I am left to my own sweet machinations._

_The auracite— why does the church horde it so? I suspect that they are attempting to fill a power vacuum, that or they or going to deify the stuff. All hail the auracite Gods… would the old man have liked that, I wonder? I have begun to hear rumors of rebellious creatures called Lucavi who sound a damn sight like Espers. They take over the bodies of Humes. I asked Mateus and Zodiark about it, and if they were Lucavi._

_They said, in this time…_

_Yes. They were._

_-B_

* * *

Balthier slammed his log shut with shaking hands, replacing the cap on the pen.

"What am I? Your slave?" he asked wretchedly, leaning against his seated Chocobo.

_Ffamran, please! _I_ don't have any intention to take over your body! _Zodiark whimpered, bobbing in the turbulent sea of rage and horror churning inside Balthier's mind. Mateus calmly weathered the storm.

_You are behaving like the silly little child you are. Stop it, Ffamran,_ he said. Balthier pressed his hands together, struggling for composure. _Start thinking. Why were we sent to this time? What did that idiot lord say?_

"He wanted to separate us. He thought you would make good business partners with someone in the future." Balthier remembered that particular lord very clearly. He spoke the same way as the Espers— correction— Lucavi did.

_Clearly he thinks that we will join the Lucavi rebellion. Well thought, little boy. _Mateus nodded approvingly.

_Are we going to join?_ Zodiark fluttered his weak little wings nervously, and Balthier shivered as he felt their feather light touch brush against his consciousness.

_No, you dolt. _The venom dripping off Mateus's voice made Zodiark recoil. Balthier felt the "young" Lucavi's surprise, and could not stop his own from rising to the surface. _Who do you think I am? I am Mateus the Corrupt, Ruler of darkness. I will _not_ be joining any rebellions unless I myself will become the emperor, which, in this case, I highly doubt, so stop your fretting!_

"So your own greed is to my advantage, is it? In that case, thank you for staying, Mateus." Balthier closed his eyes. "Now, I believe I promised you something?"

_Don't think I'm some pet that can be placated with a treat._ Mateus growled.

"The thought never crossed my mind."

* * *

An hour later found the sky pirate crouched in an alley watching several thieves and pirates running around, preparing a "trap". He checked the information hastily jotted down on a spare scrap of paper, tongue curling around a chunk of sweet ice in his mouth as he realized that once again, he'd found a false lead, and these men were actually after the now considerable bounty on his head. Balthier fiddled with the catch on his rifle, listening to the comforting click as he primed it for battle. He swallowed the chunk of ice, feeling the thing freezing all the way to his stomach.

The hunters quickly scurried to their positions when a lone figure in red and brown armor strode down the empty street, deep in thought. Balthier recognized him as Ramza, the mercenary who had fled upon discovering he was a heretic. The hunters tensed as he strolled into their midst, his mind clearly miles away.

"Come on, boy, wake up!" Balthier muttered as one of the thieves pulled a knife. Ramza had to be given some credit— as soon as the first bounty hunter attacked, his long sword was up and ready. However, the battle would easily go to the thieves. They had the advantage of numbers, even if they weren't particularly skilled. It was three against one, after all.

"Wait, he's not the thief!" one of the bounty hunters yelled as Ramza fended off another attack.

"But he's still a heretic!" another retorted. Balthier's eyes narrowed. A heretic, just like him! Quickly aiming his rifle one handedly, he shot the first thief to stagger by his hiding spot in the arm, the report of the gun almost deafening him. The stricken thief clutched his arm, falling to his knees in shock.

"Your mistakes were twofold, I'm afraid. You sprung your trap without looking to see if the game you hunted was the one you'd snare. And you sold me short. I'm no thief," Balthier pulled his gun back, resting it on his shoulder idly. "I'm a sky pirate."

He took a moment to savor the looks of awe and terror dancing over the hunter's faces. "Now that we've dispensed with the pleasantries, tell me where I'll find the Cache of Glabados, and, mind you, not one of those paltry auracite trinkets." Ramza seemed to perk up at his remark, watching the pirate intently. So the little knight knew something of the Cache, did he?

"Two heretics instead of one? Rum luck, I say. We'll claim the bounty for them both!" the brigand he had shot in the arm was rising shakily to his feet. Clearly, these men did not know anything about Balthier's quarry. They were simply after his bounty. Balthier sighed. Well, if nothing else, he was the leading man, and the leading man always had to give a show.

"You'll have your reward for finding me. And don't think about running off without collecting; you worked so hard, after all. My shot is faster, or my name is not Balthier." He smirked, raising an eyebrow, as the hunters converged upon them. Somehow during the tumult of battle, he found himself back to back with Ramza, who was panting slightly with exertion.

"Well, they have numbers, if only one brain between them. Perhaps a brief alliance is in order? One hand washes the other and all that…"

Ramza nodded fervently. "I'll certainly not object!" he grasped Balthier's hand before whirling off to cut down a bounty hunter that came screaming at them with a ridiculously huge scimitar. Balthier quickly ducked under the arm of the other hunter, hamstringing him with a dagger and filching the man's gil bag.

"You really should try to hang on to these things, friend," Balthier said, tossing the bag up and catching it in one hand.

"Ugh, give it back, you thief!" the hunter groaned from where he lay on the ground. The pirate snorted.

"I think you need to get your priorities straight. Money is about to be the least of your worries." He hissed into the man's ear, tracing a sleep rune on his forehead. The bounty hunter instantly began to snore. "Such a warm welcome. I see my reputation precedes me."

"You are branded a heretic as well?" Ramza asked, wiping his sword off on his victim's shirt. Balthier sighed, pulling his own shirt open slightly so that Ramza could see the black and red mark over his heart. The Knight winced in sympathy.

"Religion and I don't mix, I'm afraid. _Another_ false lead in two days; Fran's Gods conspire against me." Balthier tucked his rifle on his back strap, noticing that Ramza's eyes seemed glued to the weapon.

"Why do you seek this… Cache of Glabados?" the young knight asked. Balthier fumbled with the red auracite pendant he wore around his throat to hide the burn scar from the original jewel the lord placed there, then shrugged nonchalantly.

"Women, treasure— does a man need reason to pursue beauty?" he asked.

"It is the Church's treasure, at the end of a road fraught with danger. It is not the prize you think it." Ramza replied. Balthier bared his teeth in a savage smile.

"It is not the treasure _you_ think _I_ think it. But, it seems you know of it."

"No, I… you're better off not searching. You cannot know the danger you are getting into with your petty thieveries, if you are merely looking to fill your pockets." Ramza said glumly.

"Who do you think you're talking to? The leading man never balks at a little danger. I have my reasons for seeking this treasure. I found it, laid my hands on it, and brought it back to my employer. And now look where I am; no, if I can find it again, I can put things back as they were. And since you seem to know something of it, you've gained yourself another traveling companion." Balthier said smugly.

"Oh? What makes you think I definitely know anything about it?" Ramza asked.

"Well, you're rather reluctant to say what you _do_ know, for one. Don't worry, I've some experience in the chaperoning of children." Balthier said, forgetting for a moment that he looked twenty-two, not forty-two as he did before coming to the future. Ramza clearly took objection to being called a child by someone (apparently) his own age.

"I'm no child!" he said, turning his back and leaving.

"They all say that, don't they?"

"You say you are a sky pirate. Would you have me believe you can fly? I see no wings." Ramza, satisfied by his retort, marched away. Balthier shrugged.

"I once again I find myself a pirate without a sky. At this rate, I'm like to forget how to fly all together." He sauntered after the knight lazily toward the outskirts of town, where several other men and women and (Balthier blinked, then looked again to make sure his eyes did not deceive him) a dragon sat.

"Ramza, have you picked up another mouth to feed?" A female knight in armor identical to Ramza's spoke up from her spot next to the fire.

"No, he followed me!" Ramza spat, taking a seat next to her.

"Oh, aye?" The burly man sitting with the dragon chuckled. "He looks like he's going to need a lot of feeding, a skinny fellow like him."

Balthier accepted a bowl of stringy vegetable soup from the female knight, only realizing how hungry he was as his stomach chose that moment to roar like an enraged saurian. He forced himself to eat slowly, lest he made himself sick.

"Since when have you just trusted young men off the streets, Ramza? You shouldn't dole out your trust so easily." A woman in green armor said scathingly. "How do you know he's not from the Church?"

"He showed me his brand, Meliadoul." Ramza sighed. Meliadoul seemed unconvinced.

"So? Anyone can carry a brand and _say_ they are a heretic. Even a member of the Church."

"True, but he is also the Godless Thief we have heard so much about. The Church's bounty would not have been so high if they did not actually mean to do away with him." Ramza pointed out, and the group let out a collective _oh_.

"Well then, Mr. Thief, I'm Mustadio Bunansa, Ramza's party Machinist." A young boy who made Balthier wonder if he was looking into a mirror for a moment jumped to his feet, shaking his hand.

"The Sky Pirate Balthier at your service." Balthier said calmly, not even batting an eye to show his inner surprise at the name. Mateus chuckled grimly.

_So, who'd you spread the wealth with?_ the Lucavi asked. If it had a face, it would have been grinning wickedly, he was sure. Balthier had to stop himself from automatically opening his mouth in reply. If they found out he housed not one but two Lucavi within his body, this group would kill him for sure, that much he figured. If they hated the Lucavi, they did not need to know his secret.

"Can I see your gun?" Mustadio asked immediately, seeing his chance and pouncing. Balthier shrugged, handing over the Arcturus rifle. "Incredible! I have never seen such a big gun! What mix of powder do you use? Are you a machinist, too? You said you're a sky pirate; can you really fly? How?"

The female knight clad in white and blue laughed, placing another bowl of soup in Balthier's hands. The pirate quickly set about eating it, using it as a dam for the young machinist's questions and answering only when his mouth was empty.

"I use a combination of Black powder and Dark Magicite. Yes, I fancy myself a machinist, and a damn good one, too. I fly in an airship, but it has run off on me. Or rather, I've run off on it against my will," he said. Mustadio's eyes had a disturbing glint, and Balthier found himself wondering if this was not a younger version of himself, but of Vaan. "You have a father, Mustadio?"

"Yeah, my Dad is Besrudio! Have you heard of him?" Mustadio looked eager.

"No, I'm afraid not. Then again, I've not heard of a lot of things." Good. At least the boy seemed happy. Balthier supposed he did not mind the fact that he must have had children somewhere down the line if the kid was happy. His worst nightmare was that his descendants would follow in his footsteps and live an unhappy life. That was why he had avoided having children at all costs.

_You know, you're not really that selfish._ Zodiark said meditatively, rocking in his ornate cradle. _I have found that you can actually be quite nice when you want to be. And I like you for it._

Balthier groaned inwardly. So the little dragon saw him as a surrogate father now, did it?

"Where are we going now, Ramza?" Beowulf, the man with the dragon, called his leader's attention.

"I think it is time I returned home. The stench of Lucavi plots lie thick upon the Beoulve estate," he replied. "I would investigate."

* * *

Ramza led them to the gate, where a lone Chocobo was tied. Upon seeing Reis, the dragon, it squarked and shuffled away from them, eyeing the dragon with fear.

"No guards…" the knight muttered, tying his own bird next to the one at the gate. "Passing strange." Balthier agreed, a haunting memory of Draklor laboratory drifting to the surface. No doubt, something nasty lurked within the walls of this manse. Ramza cautiously pushed the front door open, and was confronted with the sight of his two brothers arguing, swords in their hands. Balthier whistled quietly.

"Some argument," he muttered.

"After what you've done, do you think you are fit to lead this house?" Zalbaag, the brother standing on the stairs, shouted. Dycedarg pushed himself off the ground, spitting a tooth to the floor.

"If it is to the business with Duke Larg you refer, I would say in my defense that he was long dead ere my dagger found its mark. He was weak, and relied on others to fight where he could not. A fool he was, for starting a war he could not stomach." Dycedarg said tiredly.

"It is not the duke that bothers me half as much as our father's murder. What manner of son are you to sully your hands with his blood?" Zalbaag snarled.

"Zalbaag, what manner of madness has taken you? I am my father's son, I know naught of his murder!" Instantly, Dycedarg's eyes were filled with rage, but Balthier recognized the look in his eye, the same one he himself had. It was the look brought by killing one's father. Lies did nothing to erase guilt as deep as that. Zalbaag saw it too, smiling grimly and bringing forth the condemning evidence.

"I heard Duke Larg's dying words. There was no mistaking what he said."

"Guards, to arms! Zalbaag is taken with madness!" Dycedarg screamed shrilly. Instantly, the guards that had been absent filled the hall, weapons clanking, surrounding the younger brother. "Sieze him!"

"Lord Brother, stop!" Zalbaag shrieked.

Ramza chose that moment to step forward. "Stand your ground, Zalbaag!"

"Ramza!" The older knight looked weak with relief. "It is all as you said, and I've been a fool not to believe you. Dycedarg started this war, and slew the duke to feed his own ambition. Our name has been dirtied and scorned by his actions; he must pay!"

"So he shall," Ramza stepped forward, drawing his sword. "Stay out of it, friends. This is a battle between Dycedarg, Zalbaag, and myself." Balthier leaned back against the wall next to Mustadio, folding his arms against his chest.

_The scent of another Esper is heavy upon the air. _Mateus hissed. _One of our enemies._

"Where?" Balthier asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Hm?" Mustadio turned toward him. Balthier realized he had spoken aloud.

_I cannot yet discern his location. I need more time._ The Lucavi's tail beat the ether, and the air cooled as Mateus extended his power, searching for the other demon.

Ramza and Zalbaag wove a web of steel about Dycedarg, forcing him back down the stairs.

"Why will you not follow where I lead? The powerful must rule the weak: it is our duty! The Crown has been brought low by fate, so why should we not rule in its stead? We will sieze the reins of Ivalice!" the eldest brother panted as he retreated step by step.

"Your table is filled with a feast of power, but there is no place for justice. You are no Beoulve!" Zalbaag replied.

"Justice, ha! A farce! I would die of shame before the word fell from my own lips as homage. Lofty ideals do not rule the common people. I have dirtied my hands to keep yours clean, I have given you the right to swing your sword of justice. One hand washes the other, and it is time to wash mine."

Ramza paused, his eyes darting to Balthier, and at that moment, Dycedarg lunged for him. Zalbaag took the opportunity to run his elder brother through, ramming his blade home to the hilt. Dycedarg staggered, slumping to his knees.

By now, the air around Balthier was freezing, and Mustadio shivered in his thin shirt.

_I have almost found it, almost!_ Mateus shrieked, and Balthier placed a hand against his forehead as the Esper strained every sense available.

_There!_ _That stone!_

A stone bearing the sigil for Capricorn glowed with green light in Dycedarg's hands.

"You've ruined… everything… you fools, what have you done?" he began to change, morphing into something very different from the dying man that had been lying there before. Adrammelech the Wroth climbed to his feet, a hulking, disgusting mixture of god and Hume. Though he still had patches of human skin, green fur bristled from his shoulders, and his goat's head leered at them. Balthier stared in horror; the Adrammelech he remembered had at least the shadow of kingly glory with his savage golden markings, but this version was like an overstuffed puppet.

"So this is what it is to be a god." Dycedarg's voice was no longer his own, and turning his eyes toward his guards, he obliterated them with bursts of lightning. "Heed these words, little brothers, for they shall be the last you hear. I slew our father, who would have watched as hist'ry passed us by, even as the war gave us the chance to rule. I granted him his due, and no sword yet can parry poison's fatal kiss." Another bolt of lightning felled Zalbaag where he stood. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh. "And so on you, Ramza, my gaze alights. And now regret, a traitor's recompense!" Adrammelech extended a clawed, green hand, and lightning once more burst forward to bring instant death upon the young knight, but a thick pillar of ice stopped it as Mateus began to assert his power.

_Ffamran, let me come forth to do battle with the Wroth god, _he hissed. _Ancient enemies are we, dating long before even the first rebellion of the Espers. Lightning and Ice have ne'er mixed, and it is time once again for us to see who is stronger. _

Balthier began to protest, but Adrammelech already was turning toward them.

"Another Lucavi scents the breeze… Mateus, mine ancient foe, is that you?" he grinned his goat's grin, and Mustadio squeaked and attempted to hide behind Agrias and Meliadoul as the monster advanced upon them.

_Ffamran,_ Mateus's voice was gentle. _You cannot come between this battle, though I realize the danger this poses to us. To you, my host, for if I lose you will certainly die with me, and for me, for we shall surely be executed for being Lucavi. But this battle was written from the dawn of time. You must not stop it._

"I am going to regret this." Balthier muttered as he focused on the summoning. The blue and purple circle sprang into existence, spinning around his feet, the air temperature plummeting even further.

_We all have regrets._ Mateus replied.

What followed, Balthier could only put the sensation into two words: _very_ strange.


	5. Choosing a Side

Thanks for reviewing, **ElTangoDeRoxanne**!

* * *

_Balthier's Log, page 5_

_So… damn… cold…_

_-B_

* * *

He would never look at summoning the same way again. It was not necessarily painful, but it _was_ rather uncomfortable, comprehending that you were _dissipating_ into Mist. Balthier felt the last few wisps of his body vanish into the air, reforming as Mateus's red armor. The Esper waved his trident menacingly, and the ice goddess bound to his shield shrieked insults in her voice of winter storms, her tail whipping the air into vicious gusts of wind.

In a distant way, which he realized was how the Espers viewed the world when not physically in it, he was aware that Agrias, Meliadoul, and Beowulf were regarding the new Lucavi with something akin to horror, while Mustadio simply looked hurt. Ramza's grip had tightened on his sword.

_I suppose it is akin to betrayal to find that your new friend is actually a Lucavi demon._ Balthier murmured. Mateus growled, the noise like a gale rushing through a hollow cave.

"Silence, Ffamran. I must concentrate, and I don't need you chattering in my ear," he snapped. An unbearable pressure pressed down upon him, and Balthier found himself forced to retreat deeper into the ether, his consciousness dimming to barely more than a sputtering flame.

"Have you come to join our efforts, my friend? Hashmal and I— we are all who are left. Another hand would be welcome in our ranks." Adrammelech said pleasantly.

"I am not your friend, you old goat," Mateus snarled. "Do not forget that we are opposites. The only weakness of Lightning is Ice, but conversely, the only weakness of Ice is Lightning, and so we must set the balance."

"And in the process you would side with the pathetic humes? Your idiocy has never failed to astound me," the thunder Lucavi shook his head mockingly, flexing his huge claws.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." Mateus retorted.

"Then I will shatter you like the block of ice you are!" Adrammelech roared, springing for him. Mateus caught the blow on his living shield, and the ice goddess sang a spell of cold that sapped the feeling from the green Lucavi's limbs. Twirling his trident, he sent spears of ice flying to impale the creature, but it blasted them to pieces with a bolt of lightning. The ice goddess screamed as she took the bolt, lashing her tail in agony and shattering the hall's ornate stonework. Ramza dove for cover before she hit him, coming to stand by Mustadio.

"What a savage battle!" he exclaimed. "I am somewhat glad that I shall have no need to return to this house once this is over, it will be wrecked beyond repair!"

Meliadoul shot him a dirty look. "See what your hastiness has wrought though, Beoulve. Now we see there is another Lucavi that needs defeating, and you picked it right up off the streets and brought it with you!"

"Forgive me." Ramza bowed to her, but she turned away with a huff.

"When you must land this giant fish, do not come to me for help." She said, but Agrias shook her head.

"Perhaps we could simply let them kill each other?" she asked. "They are doing a very good job of doing our duty for us."

Mateus slumped to the ground as Adrammelech flung him against the wall, his armor ringing. His coral pink and purple veils were singed and torn from lightning bolts, and the other Lucavi had managed to rip several fins right off.

Adrammelech did not fare much better. Gaping holes yawned open in his body, blood crusted and frozen about their rims, and he nursed a large jagged pole of ice protruding from his stomach.

"So we are equally matched, little fish, but I would imagine you are in a world of pain right now without your summoner to heal you like in the older days," he laughed. Mateus groaned, and the ice goddess wailed in despair.

"I am filled with loathing to do so, but it seems that I must look to the humes for aid." He looked toward Ramza, who drew his sword and faced the Lucavi fearlessly. Adrammelech scoffed.

"You would look to my host's foolish little brother? He is powerless!"

"Perhaps, but I have found in my twenty years of imprisonment within my host that Humes have amazing reserves of strength." Mateus replied. "Ramza, I shall give you one chance, and one chance only to end the monster your brother has become."

"I'll not help you, Lucavi!" Ramza snarled. The ice goddess hissed disdainfully, while Mateus forced himself airborne once more.

"Now is not the time for petty arguments, boy! You are being worse than Ffamran right now, I swear. An alliance is in order, and you can do what you will with me once it is over." He snapped.

_No, he bloody well cannot!_ Balthier was outraged, fighting his way out of the dark depths with Zodiark in tow. _Do you think I will sit by and let that justice driven Knight drive a sword through my breast? I think not!_

Ramza clutched his sword as if it were a lifeline.

"Take the demon's deal, Ramza," Agrias urged. "No matter how you look at it, we win!" Mustadio nodded fervently.

"Is that the will of the party?" Ramza asked. Beowulf scratched his square jaw uncomfortably.

"I can't say that I like making deals with Lucavi, but it furthers our own ends. There are times when justice must be thrown out the window, young man," he conceded.

"Then it is settled." Ramza turned back to Mateus, who prepared his most powerful attack.

All the water in the room began to freeze as the temperature lowered dramatically, the Esper's trident glowing with blue, arcane light. With all his strength, he flung it at Adrammelech, who sought in vain to stop the blow, but he could not stop the pillar of ice that trapped him within its freezing embrace. Ramza dashed forward, sword in hand, and sank his blade deep into the chest of the monster that was once his brother. The ice shattered.

"Too soon this mortal coil did I assume! Angel of Blood, High Seraph… come too late…" Adrammelech whispered as his body began to disintegrate. The Capricorn stone clattered to the ground, its light fading.

"House Beoulve is no more, but what does it matter? We are the sum of our deeds, not our names. I will find you, Alma." Ramza looked at Mateus, who lay on the ground, the ice goddess feebly twitching her tail. Blue fish scales littered the ground, and ichor smeared the walls. Before their eyes, Mateus began to melt, the ice goddess vanishing into Mist, until Balthier lay before them in a puddle of water. He was partially frozen, ice crystals glistening in his hair, and his lips were blue with frostbite.

"H-hello, Ramza," he said through chattering teeth, still managing to be cheeky despite his ordeal. "I-imagine meeting you l-like this."

"You never said you were a Lucavi." Ramza knelt by him, water splashing noisily.

"I-I'm not." Balthier said, propping himself up on his elbows. "And I d-did not think that was s-something you told people who made it their business killing L-lucavi and taking their stones."

"Do you have one?" Ramza asked as Meliadoul approached with a length of rope.

"No. In my day… you d-didn't need one." Balthier could not resist as the knight in green bound his hands, his limbs too numb from cold. Already, darkness ate at his vision, and he forced himself to stay awake.

"He is fading! Mustadio, do you have a phoenix down?" Ramza cried. Mustadio fumbled in his pouch for one of the red feathers, pressing it into Balthier's hands. The pirate grimaced as the magic in the feather dragged him back into reality and out of the sweet respite of unconsciousness.

"In your day?" Agrias asked, hauling him to his feet as Ramza picked up the Capricorn gem.

"Age… of Technology." Balthier slurred, staggering forward. He would have fallen had Beowulf not caught his other side. "That was an age when airships flew the skies… and when guns were commonplace." He winked tiredly at Mustadio before sinking into oblivion.

"He's delirious." Beowulf said. "Lucavi or not, that summoning has made him very ill."

"In his delirium we might get some truth yet. The fever in his mind makes it harder for him to tell lies." Meliadoul pointed out. "Mustadio, of all the people here, he seems to trust you most. When he wakes, you shall be the one to question him."

"Me?" Mustadio asked. "Why me? I have no experience in the art of interrogation. Not like you, I think."

"I shall give you a tip— just talk." Meliadoul snapped. "He will not have enough strength to do much else."

* * *

Balthier opened his eyes and attempted to stretch, but found ropes binding him tightly to a tree.

_They are paranoid and ignorant. If we wanted to escape, all you would have to do is call on me, and we would be free._ Mateus whispered. Balthier groaned, nursing a monstrous headache and a stinging chest. Spots of blood stood out against the pale white of his shirt.

"I don't think I'll be summoning you again for a long time," he mumbled, resting his head against the tree. "I feel like I just drank an entire barrel of Madhu and jumped into a lake…"

"Er… you're awake." Mustadio said nervously, fiddling with his pistols. Balthier looked at him blearily.

"So I am," he replied.

"Who are you?"

"Balthier."

"Everyone calls you Mateus now."

"Summoner and summoned are different, you know. Do I look like a suit of armor with a lady fish stuck to me?"

Mustadio could not help but laugh at that, relieving the tense atmosphere. The knights seated by the fire looked at them strangely, and he quickly stopped laughing.

"I'm supposed to be interrogating you, but frankly, I have no idea what to do," he confessed. Balthier shrugged.

"They used branding irons and ice baths in the Judiciary Dungeons," he said. "Seeing as you happen to have neither, I suppose you cannot do a proper job interrogating then, can you?"

Mustadio bit his lip. "Stop treating me like a child. You're hardly older than Ramza."

"I'm forty-two, so I'll treat however I want, thank you."

"Really?"

"Would I lie in my position?"

"You're a Lucavi."

"Dammit, I'm not."

Once again, they were back to that wall where either he could admit truth, and he damn well was admitting it, though no one would believe him, or hold his silence.

_Why don't they believe you?_ Zodiark asked.

"They have no reason to." Balthier replied. Mustadio looked on, intrigued.

"Are you talking to Mateus right now?" he asked.

"No."

"There is another?"

"In the Age of Technology, we called the Lucavi Espers. They were summoned by glyphs, not by giving up your flesh, and thus, you could play host to as many as you wanted. Though, why you would want thirteen of them all talking in your head at once is beyond me. If you don't believe me, look at my right arm."

Mustadio cautiously pulled back Balthier's sleeve, as if expecting the pirate would strangle him the instant he got close. "Those are the Espers?"

"Yes. I reckon they would have those same marks on their stones, if they had any."

The young boy curled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his arms. "I hate the Lucavi. They have no right to interfere with our lives, and yet they cunningly manipulate _everybody_ through the church. Why do they do it?" Balthier raised his eyebrow, thinking that this younger version of himself would probably have gotten along swimmingly with old Cid Bunansa. History in the hands of man, hurrah!

_It is as Dycedarg said, before he became Adrammelech._ Mateus said. _While I do not say that it is their duty, there is a natural tendency for the strong to rule the weak, and who is stronger than the gods? These rebellious Lucavi likely see it as their right to rule._

Balthier relayed the Esper's words to Mustadio, who cocked his head. "I guess he is right, but that does not stop me from getting angry." The Sky Pirate rolled his eyes as he began to pick at the knot binding him to the tree. It was fairly simple, he found as he ran his fingers over it, and a bit of tugging in the right spot would have him free in no time. Then he would leave their company and find the Cache by himself. Though, he was beginning to suspect that the treasure was actually a Zodiac Stone, and if Adrammelech had been referring to Ultima when he spoke of High Seraphs, it was likely that the Cache was the Virgo Stone. That would lead to an ultimate conflict with Ramza, no doubt, and the boy was getting fearsomely strong if he had already killed Cuchulainn, Belias, and Zalera. Balthier did not fancy being killed and thus remembered as the last Lucavi who had stood between Ramza and Ultima. No, that would not do at all.

"Tell me about the Age of Technology." Mustadio's voice broke in on his thoughts.

"I lived all my life in it, and at the time, there was not really anything to mark it as an 'Age' or era. I suppose… while I lived a life of adventure that many would envy, I found it frightfully boring." Balthier answered eventually. The young boy's eyes bulged.

"_Boring!_ You are a sky pirate, you fly an airship, and you say life is boring?"

"Hey!" Agrias marched over to them, prodding Mustadio with her foot. "Are you interrogating him, or learning his life's story?" She noticed that the ropes were considerably looser about the pirate, and crouched next to him. "You were buying time with your stories, were you not?"

"Please, I did not get zapped about one-thousand years ahead of my time so that you could put an end to me here." Balthier snarled. "You can either let me stay with you where I would continue to fight at your side, or you can let me go free. At the end of the road, we would meet again, but this time on the opposite sides of the field. You will regret having taken me as your enemy. Ignorant of your world, I may be, but I am no lost chocobo when it comes to scraping a life out of the lowest levels of Hume filth."

"Balthier…" Mustadio was frightened, his eyes wide. The sight of the boy Balthier had come to consider his younger self only served to enraged him— it was too much like Ffamran, too much like the insecure, yet dangerously determined boy that the façade of the leading man was meant to cover. Ffamran was dangerously close to the surface right now, a young boy pounding on the walls of his cell, shouting for freedom from his prison just as he had over twenty years ago.

_You're scaring me!_ Zodiark squealed, attempting to weather the new storm, and Mateus pounced on the baby dragon like a cat upon a mouse.

_Silence, brine shrimp, _he snarled. _You're not helping. You are the keeper of precepts, your authority is absolute, yet do you even have a spine to use it? Ffamran has a weak spot for children, and he would sell his soul if it would placate you, so do something!_

Balthier shut his eyes against the cacophony of noise rattling around his head— Mateus's snarled orders at Zodiark, Zodiark's wails, and his own pulse thundering in his ears. He did not want to admit it, but he was frightened of what fate awaited him. He did not want to die miserably in this place so far from home, where things he did not care about were in motion, sweeping him along destiny's skewed path.

"Well!" Agrias bent down, her dagger slicing through his loose bonds. "I will set you free, Ser Pirate, and leave it up to you whether you want to follow or fight. I came here half expecting to see a Lucavi demon screaming at the end of a rope with Mustadio in its grip, but all I see is an angry, frightened, and wounded man!" she said.

"You would let me go?" Balthier asked, staring up at her. She shrugged.

"Didn't you hear me? I care not what you chose to do, and neither does Ramza, I think. In the end, there is death, and whether it is met with you at our side or under our swords, it does not matter."

"So says the Knight." Mustadio muttered. "I would prefer living, myself."


	6. Journey to Midlight's Deep

Thanks to **ElTangoDeRoxanne **and **fallacies** for reviewing. I'm glad you guys liked the last chapter. Thanks to anyone else who reads this, even if you don't review!

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_Balthier's Log, page 6_

_I wished everyone would leave me alone. I am tired of Meliadoul's accusing eyes, Ramza's high and mighty stance on everything, reminding me that I made a promise to him, despite the fact that it was _Mateus_, not I, and I am somewhat sick of Mustadio's pestering. I knew I was popular, but this getting overmuch, even for the leading man._

_-B _

* * *

Balthier opened his eyes and gazed upon the waterless beach stretching before him. Here and there, the wrecks of airships jutted out of the sand, and he ran his hand over the hot metal of the closest one. This was his inner world, the place of his own. Now and then, when he was tired of flying, he would come here to rest. It was so peaceful…

"Balthier!" he turned at the mention of his name to look upon the young boy behind him. It looked almost like himself at age ten. He smiled; it was Zodiark. The little dragon liked to take on the appearance of Balthier's child self when he wished to look human. Why, he had no idea. "It's taken forever to find you."

"And why were you searching, pray tell? This is my mind, thank you very much. It is the only place where I am alone. Out there…" his eyes travelled toward the cloudless sky. "Out there I am never alone."

"I thought you wanted to talk."

"To myself, not to you."

"Huh, you can talk to me just as well as yourself, old man. If you talk to yourself, everyone will think you're crazy." Zodiark knelt in the sand, clenching his fist in the soft grains. "It's sort of hot here, isn't it? I thought you disliked the heat, Balthier." Since when did the Esper call him by his pseudonym?

"There's no water, and thus no clouds." he shrugged. "It is science, not magic."

"Mateus could amend that easily," the boy echoed Balthier's thoughts, looking at the cloudless sky. There was wonder reflected in his veiled grey eyes. "Aren't you lonely? How have you survived?"

"I manage. I fly through the sky, and leave this place. I go up there, where I am not alone. When I leave here, I will be forced back into reality, where Meliadoul will subject me to her evil eye because she thinks I'm a Lucavi, and Mustadio will continue interrogating me about my life before I came here." Balthier sighed. "I wanted to think about what I am going to do next, but… you should be going. This place is not for you."

"I can't leave." Zodiark said sadly. "I have no wings with which to fly. When you began to hear the stones… you got frightened, and you cut my wings away." He turned around, and Balthier realized that there were jagged, bloody stumps, a few tawny feathers stuck to the ragged tips.

"I'm sorry, Zodiark. Really—" he began, truly feeling sorry now. Zodiark's ten year old brow creased.

"Zodiark? I am not Zodiark."

"What? If not him, are you Mateus, come to play a joke upon me?" Balthier took a step toward the boy, who retreated out of reach.

"Balthier, old man, can't you see? I'm—" Gunshots barked across the thirsty beach, and the boy jerked as the bullets impacted him, toppling back into the sand. Balthier was at his side at an instant, hands glowing with an Arise spell.

"Come back! Who are you?" he screamed, but the Arise spell would not take. The bullet holes absorbed his magick and vomited forth red blood instead. Before Balthier could flee, the world was filled with a sea of the young boy's blood, weighing him down. He struggled to stay afloat, to breathe, but his chest _hurt_ so, it was impossible to draw even one breath. Balthier felt himself fading, his panic bursting like the air bubbles spilling from his mouth. Everything was red, red, _red, red!_

Red. Someone was laughing. Red. Poison. A lord in a black chair covered with red velvet. He was rather young, wasn't he? But he wasn't the ten year old boy. Who was he?

_Balthier, old man, can't you see? I'm—_

"Captain!"

* * *

Balthier reared into consciousness, a strangled gasp on his lips and cold water pouring down his face, freezing as it rolled down his cheeks. Mustadio stood over him with a bucket in his hand.

"You are awake now, Captain?" the machinist asked. "Shall I fetch more water?"

"No, I'm awake. Please, no more." Balthier buried his face in his hands, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his rime-rimmed eyes. It had been a dream, then, all a dream, only a dream. "Why is there frost everywhere?"

"Mateus, we guess." Mustadio said. Balthier's eyes almost jumped out of his head.

"I turned into _Mateus_ in my sleep? Good gods!" he gasped. Seeing his panic, Mustadio quickly put him at ease.

"No, no, you were perfectly fine. But, you seemed in pain as you slept; moaning and crying in your sleep. That was when the air cooled too much for us to bear, and Ramza sent me to wake you up. Are you alright, Captain?" the boy asked, crouching next to Balthier. The pirate raised an eyebrow.

"I am alright now. 'Twas just a bad dream. I must ask though; Captain? I am no military man, nor am I one of the knights you travel with." he gently chided.

Mustadio seemed to shrivel. "I thought pirates had Captains as well."

"Is that what this is about?"

"Would you rather I did not call you 'captain'?"

"Mm, 'Balthier' is perfectly fine. It helps me remember who I am." Balthier stretched, popping the kinks out of his back. "Has Ramza decided what he is going to do now?" he asked.

"Aye," Beowulf came up to them, accompanied by Reis, as usual. "How are you this fine morning, Ice Cube?"

"Has everyone come up with some endearing title for me now?" Balthier grumbled, checking the straps on his gun so that it would not fall off while they were riding.

"After last night's stunt manipulating the temperature, I daresay they have, though if they are endearing or not, you will have to decide for yourself. Agrias has dubbed you 'Lord Winter', while Meliadoul has decided upon 'Damned Fish'."

"Charming." Balthier winced.

"Ramza has picked up news of another Zodiac Stone in the depths of a dungeon called Midlight's Deep, near Warjilis." Beowulf continued. "If it is any incentive for you, my friend, there is a treasure beyond worth sleeping on that island."

"Treasure, eh?" Balthier smiled, stroking his Chocobo's head. "Where there is treasure, there is always danger."

"What? The leading man, balking at a little danger?" Ramza rode toward them, flanked by Agrias and Meliadoul. "Did you not tell me that the leading man never did such a thing?"

"Ah, you have just reminded me of that particular requisite." The sky pirate bowed. "Do you know what the treasure is? Or perhaps, do you have a map?"

Ramza shook his head. "I know not, however, my goal is the Zodiac stone said to be in the depths. We have another Lucavi that must be defeated, disguised as a wizard whose heart is as black as the shadows where he hides."

"A shadow Lucavi?" Balthier asked, intrigued.

_But I am the Lord of the Shadows!_ Zodiark cried, jealousy ringing in his voice.

"I know," Balthier replied. "Shall we visit this so-called Lucavi, then? See who would dare use your name?"

_I am loathe to allow you two to descend into the shadows of Midlight's Deep._ Mateus grumbled. _Why not just go find a few trinkets to satisfy your avarice, then wait for them to return? If the creature they go to fight truly is the Serpent Bearer, you may be in for a very nasty surprise when he is able to control you through Zodiark._

_You're such a worrywart, Mateus,_ Zodiark snickered.

_Spoken like a naïve child._ Mateus snapped, retreating into the eddies of Balthier's subconscious.

* * *

The boat ride to Warjilis was uneventful, but for the fact that Agrias was horrendously seasick for much of the journey and Mustadio vomited profusely over the rail before they had even set sail. He went below deck, sleeping off his illness in their rented cabin while Balthier and Meliadoul tended to him with Esuna spells alternating with freezing wet cloths. The entire time, the pirate prayed he would make it out of the tiny cabin without the female knight eviscerating him when his back was turned. She sat in stony silence, holding the bucket of icy water in a position that suggested, should he even think of doing something ungentlemanly, he would find the bucket ringing upon his head.

"My lady, is there a particular reason you are so vehemently opposed to my presence in this party?" Balthier finally asked when a rather violent swell dumped half the bucket's contents onto his leg. He knew she had angled the bucket just so it would do that.

"I hate Lucavi." She said angrily. "And I hate curs. As you happen to be both, does it not follow that I hate you doubly as much as either a Lucavi or a cur?"

"I see." Balthier nodded understandingly, mopping the water up with a towel and laying it upon Mustadio's forehead. "Then would it make you hate me trebly so if I told you that I am not only a cur and one Lucavi, but two?" he had to dance backward quickly as Meliadoul swung the bucket at him, splashing frigid water in a wide arc onto the walls, floor, and pirate.

"Can your tongue not be still? Do demons have no sense?" she screamed unbecomingly. "Mateus, do you wonder why I hate you and your kind so? Then I shall tell you! My father, my own father, is a Lucavi, and I was too blind to see it! And so I have vowed never again to let myself be deceived by your ilk, and I will destroy all of you, no matter where you hide and how you look!"

"Even if it means killing your own father?" Balthier asked coldly. Meliadoul froze.

"I… I am at peace with myself. I have thought long and hard upon it, and I am ready to do what I must to see the demon's end. He's not— he's not my father anymore. Just… a shell, a skin for the demon to wear while in this world. He's not— he's not actually… there anymore." Her voice began to break, and against his better judgment, Balthier touched her shoulder gently.

"You may not appreciate me saying this, but I know exactly how you feel," he murmured. "I too, had to kill my father. I thought I was ready for it, and I said almost the exact same things myself. 'He's not my father anymore. He is a puppet to Venat and the nethicite…'"

_Father, do you love me more than nethicite?_

"When the time came, did you pull the trigger?" Meliadoul whispered.

_The hour of your return is late._

"I…" Balthier closed his eyes, forcing himself to face the ghost in rising in his mind, like a weed that would never leave. "I did. He bled Mist."

_I had such high hopes for you, but you ran, and they with you._

"Was he truly gone? Did he even care?" Meliadoul clenched her hands in his shirt, her eyes wild, begging for him to tell her it was so, his father had died as he had lived.

_Spend your pity elsewhere… If you're so set on running, hadn't you best be off?_

"He was remorseless, even at the end." Lies— was he?

_No pity for me!_

"Do you remember the person he became? Or the person he was?" She was desperate, forgetting to wear her mask and exposing her base fears instead.

_Father, do you love me more than nethicite?_ Cid had never really answered that, had he?

"I suppose we had better refill this bucket, hm? While we chat, Mustadio turns greener by the second," Balthier tried to avoid answering her question, just as his father did not answer his own.

"Tell me!" Meliadoul would not let him go, and neither would Ffamran let Balthier go until he had answered that question!

_Ffamran, look at this! A marvel of Bhujerban engineering, I have never seen the like! Now this, _this_ is an airship! Shall we go look inside?_ That was a happy memory.

"I remember who he was. Who he became was not the same person." Balthier replied at last. "To put your mind at ease, and so that you do not make any of the mistakes I possibly did, I suggest you accept both sides of the coin— remember both. It may ease the pain."

Meliadoul closed her eyes, releasing her held breath, collapsing back onto her stool. "Thank you, Balthier," she murmured. He quirked an eyebrow.

"Not Mateus?"

"Silence, Damned Fish."

"Ah, that's more like it." Balthier grinned as he left the cabin.

* * *

Meliadoul was considerably nicer to him after their heart-to-heart talk on the boat, though she still would not speak to him unless forced to. As they trudged through the oppressing darkness of Midlight's Deep, Balthier decided that the fates were now, if not on his side, at least they were not against him anymore.

He shot another skeleton, concentrating on the magicks that he knew would petrify the beast where it stood. It fell to the ground, smashing into pieces. He kicked one of the pieces of its stone skull away, watching it skitter away on the floor.

"All that work for just a horn?" Balthier picked up his prize. "I may decide this is not worth it and back out right here."

"Keep your eyes forward and your heart steeled!" Ramza declared. "The bounty is ahead, not behind."

The boy really did remind him of Basch sometimes. Ah, this was just like his own time, only Balthier now had better eyesight and his back did not trouble him as it did then. How the knight would envy him. At age fifty-six, he had begun to complain that he was tired of filing papers for the Archadian Judiciary Bureau and longed for a good war to stir things up.

"I don't want to go farther, Ramza. Really, Elibidus has not done anything to aid the other Lucavi, so why must we go after him?" Mustadio complained.

"I need the stones to rescue Alma. I will not rest until that deed is complete." Ramza replied.

"Or, you are being stubborn, and do not want to admit that you were wrong to come searching here." Agrias shook her head, nursing a wound in her shoulder. "One more level, Ramza. We will go down one more level to the Terminus, and if the Lucavi is not there, we will turn around and leave."

"Knowing our luck, it will be right there." Beowulf said bitterly.


	7. The Serpent Bearer

I apologize if this is not as good as usual because I have been rather fatigued and distracted as of late. Thanks to **ElTangoDeRoxanne**, **fallacies**, and **emeraldonyxdragon** for reviewing, and happy belated new year! This will be the last update until next week because of school, so until then, また あとで。

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_Balthier's Log, page 7_

_The dreams— it is the dreams again, not the same dream, but it is the same place, the same boy. The same death for him, shot in the chest, the same death for me, by drowning. Who is that boy? He looks like me, thirty-two years ago, but he is far, far too clever for his own good. I was never that frightening at ten years of age. Whenever I ask who he is, he dies before he can tell me his name, but not before telling me something along the lines of, "Are you blind, old man?" or, "You are a fool." Cheeky brat._

_-B_

* * *

"Hello, Balthier. You look terrible." The boy was there, as he usually was, crouching in the shade of a wrecked airship.

"I am tired, boy. Can you not leave me alone for one night? I need to rest; Agrias says I am turning into a sleep-deprived zombie." Balthier sat beside him, and the boy leaned against him, closing his eyes. The sky pirate could not stop himself from combing his fingers through the boy's brown and gold-flecked hair.

"It must be hard to dream you are awake," the boy sighed contently. "What do you want to talk about today?"

"We don't have much time. This is only a catnap before we enter the Terminus and confront the 'Dark' Lucavi." Balthier replied. "I want to _sleep_. I am tired; can you not see these circles under my eyes?"

"You want to ask about this so-called Lucavi. You thought you were not only the Lucavi of Ice, but that of Dark, didn't you?" the boy smiled knowingly. "Ah, so conceited."

"_You're_ the conceited one, thinking you know my mind like that. I just want to rest…" Balthier lied, knowing the boy would tell him what he wanted to know anyway. The child did not disappoint. He looked across the waterless beach, playing with one of Balthier's charmed bracelets.

"He has a stone, that much is for certain, but it is voiceless. There is no Lucavi _in_ the stone, per se."

"I know; I can hear the voices in the auracite… How do you know all this?"

"I could ask the same of you." The boy looked up at him again, his eyes veiled as usual. Balthier found he did not like those eyes— no child should have those secretive, sly eyes.

"You are disturbed. You want to know who I am, and you want to know why I know your thoughts. Are you blind, old man? I'm—"

Just as expected, the gunshots rang across the beach again, and Balthier closed his eyes, waiting to drown in the sea of the boy's blood. _Calm_, he told himself. _If you panic, you will freeze everyone to death. _

Red. Someone was laughing. Red. Poison. A lord in a black chair covered with red velvet. He was rather young, wasn't he? But he wasn't the ten year old boy. Who was he?

_Balthier, old man, can't you see? I'm—_

"Balthier, if you don't get up, you are going to be left behind."

The point was accompanied by a gentle armor shod foot in his side.

* * *

Beowulf was right, Balthier thought miserably. Elidibus, the all-knowing wizard of darkness, stood within a circle of beasts, just within the entrance of the Terminus.

_Be wary, Ffamran! He bears a stone!_ Mateus warned. Balthier allowed a breath of air to escape from between his teeth in an angry hiss.

"I know."

"So you are the one who calls yourself the Lucavi of Darkness?" Ramza challenged, standing proudly in the archway.

"I call myself nothing; I _am_ the Lucavi of Darkness. You dare disrupt my meditations?" Elidibus asked, his voice dry as a burned reed.

"I have come for the auracite, the Serpentarius Stone. Cede it to us, and you will be allowed to continue in peace."

The wizard laughed, stroking his beard. "A lie if I e'er heard one, little boy, I know how you must wrest a stone from a Lucavi. Reap then, your reward! To the stone I am wed, and unto me power beyond knowing granted." He held a stone high in the air, crying, "Auracite or wick of life, one is surrendered here!"

He instantly transformed into a Lucavi, a powerfully built man bearing a huge purple snake on his arms. It hissed at them menacingly, baring fangs longer than swords. Mustadio drew his pistols.

"Ramza, I am not sure that lying to him was a very good idea," the boy whispered.

"You have found what you came for, that is for certain!" Agrias used her teeth to tighten a bandage around her shoulder, preparing for battle.

"You would fight? Foolish, but very brave, I commend you on that. Shall we begin?"

The next thing they knew, the snake was in their midst, biting and stabbing with its lethal fangs. Balthier found himself buried under its thick purple coils as it bowled him over, making straight for Ramza. The knight dodged away into the darkness, and hissing, the snake followed. Meliadoul helped the pirate to his feet.

"This one will not go down quickly, that is for sure. Do you know any magicks?" she asked.

"Aye, but I am no mage," Balthier wiped some blood from his nose, which had been smashed into the floor when the snake jumped on top of him.

"I suggest you be ready to use them!" she warned as Beowulf thumped down beside them, his arm torn from wrist to shoulder. Balthier cursed heartily as he traced a Curaga spell over the wound.

"If his arm falls off from faulty magick, I want none of the blame."

Elidibus showed no signs of stopping, and Ramza had yet to return from battling the snake. Meliadoul held off another attack from the Lucavi while Balthier rooted through his pouch with shaking hands, searching for more shot.

"Can you load that gun of yours any faster, pirate?" Meliadoul snapped as she was forced to retreat a step when a snake smashed into her sword. Balthier snapped the barrel of the rifle back in place, taking aim and blowing the head off the aggressive serpent. Mustadio dumped another pile of shot in his lap.

"My apologies, but if you knights would be a little less heroic and a little more tactical, perhaps I would have more energy to fight. The more I have to heal you, the weaker I become." He snarled, battle making his temper short.

"There are always risks in battle, and many of them pay well if taken," she snorted, sprinting forward and plunging her sword deep into the head of a new snake Elidibus summoned from within his body. The snake hissed in its death throes, wriggling at a grotesque angle away from his body, not having fully separated before it died. This time, the Lucavi bellowed in pain, ripping the snake from him, before sending another barrage at them. Agrias countered, while Ramza, newly returned from his battle against the largest snake, went straight as the Lucavi, digging his sword deep into the monster's stomach.

Elidibus panted as cold, black blood dripped from the wound. "I will not die here... I will not! If you had not brought my servant to me, what I am about to do would not have been possible, so thank you. The stone, you may want, but I will not give it up so easily."

"What servant?" Beowulf tightened his grip on his sword. "Does he seek to divide us with confusion?"

"Attack by the Master of Commandments— _Zodiark!_" Elidibus bellowed.

Balthier closed his eyes as a wave of pain smashed into him, forcing him to his knees. Zodiark began to stir, clawing into the forefront of his mind. The pirate's shape blurred, as if coming apart at the seams.

"Stop!" he cried. "Zodiark, stop!"

… _I cannot. I have been called, and I must answer… what is going on? It was not you who summoned me…?_ The Esper panicked, his thoughts becoming incoherent, dissolving into bursts and pinwheels of color as Balthier failed to grasp what the frightened creature was trying to communicate and its words dissolved into colors of emotion. Meliadoul was on her knees beside him, grasping at his shoulder, and he struggled to make his tongue obey him before he completely faded.

"Zodiark… a child…" he began thickly, but Meliadoul shushed him.

"Don't _talk_, concentrate on suppressing it!" she said fiercely. He shook his head, cold sweat rolling down his face.

"…The strongest Esper but… control him… like a child… easy enough, right?" he managed a wink. Meliadoul opened her mouth to question his sanity, but within moments, he had vanished.

The next thing she knew, Meliadoul found herself dangling from Zodiark's elaborate cradle, her cloak hopelessly tangled in the ornate carvings and her arm jammed in one of the holes. She struggled, but only succeeded in twining herself further into the Esper's cradle. Hissing with annoyance, Zodiark beat his six, underdeveloped wings desperately, attempting to counteract the extra weight.

In the face of this new threat, once a familiar friend and now a foe, Mustadio took a step back, his grip on his pistols faltering. Elidibus chuckled.

"You are lucky souls are very malleable in form. If you can defeat me, your friend will return to you, perhaps a little worse for wear, but nothing a little rest cannot take care of. But if you cannot defeat me— this soul will stay here with me, my servant for eternity."

"Stop your elusive half-speak about souls, demon. There is but one soul that will go forth today, and that is your own!" Ramza shouted. He was forced to duck as, maddened by Meliadoul's presence stuck on his cradle, Zodiark flew over him drunkenly, screeching.

"Is it? You will find out, I suppose, all in good time. Cease your whining, little wretch! Kill them, and I will get the girl off of you." Elidibus snapped at the squalling Lucavi. Sniveling, Zodiark rushed at them, a ray of Darkness forming within his jaws.

"Beowulf! Blind him!" Meliadoul commanded from where she hung haphazardly. Beowulf snorted.

"Balthier told you to treat it like a child, not a wild Chocobo!" he said, complying anyway. No longer able to see or aim properly, the Banish Ray Zodiark charged went wide, blasting holes dripping Dark energy in the walls of the dungeon. Feasting on the magick, undead began to rise. When one of the zombies brushed a cold, oozing hand over Zodiark's tail, the blinded Lucavi's never very full well of courage evaporated.

Mustadio grabbed for Meliadoul's hand and ended up being taken along for the ride as Zodiark fled into the darkness of Midlight's Deep. The Lucavi swerved crazily, rising and falling in his effort to distance himself as much as possible from the unknown source of terror. Unaccustomed to the extra weight holding him down, he began veering close to walls and jagged spires of rock, attempting to knock the machinist and holy knight from their perch on his cradle in his madness. Mustadio yelped as a rock careened by dangerously close, close enough to jar his shoulder and weaken his grip. Sensing that a fall was imminent, Meliadoul decided that the farce had gone on long enough.

"Balthier!" she bellowed as best she could over the roaring wind. "Balthier, STOP!"

Zodiark hissed and even accelerated, almost like a rebellious child.

"Meliadoul, this creature is _not_ Balthier, remember? He has always tells me that the one who summons and the creature summoned are different entities, so they must be treated that way. This creature is no more Balthier than I am." Mustadio reminded her. "Though might I ask you to try again? I am going to fall, quite soon!"

This time, the Lucavi smashed his cradle through a rock spar, and Mustadio would have fallen had not Meliadoul, fastened to Zodiark's cradle by her cloak, tightened her grip.

…_The strongest Esper but… control him… like a child… easy enough, right?_ The memory of Balthier's voice whispered through her mind. _Come, Meliadoul. He has shut me out, so I cannot hear his thoughts, nor can he hear mine, but he might listen to you yet._

"You said this would be 'easy enough,' yet I find myself dangling from your little summon's cradle like a marionette on strings. You had better be prepared for my wrath." Meliadoul growled.

_Hmm… I daresay I have had experience facing the wrath of a woman scorned, which surely, hell hath no fury as, and I find myself well prepared to face yours. Trust me, when this is over, you will not be in any position to deliver justice upon my heretical head. _Balthier's ghostly voice purred, rife with humor. Mustadio groaned.

"Oh for— while you two chatter away like mother hens, I am about to be dashed to pieces against the rocks!" he shouted, apparently able to hear their conversation as well. Meliadoul blushed, while Balthier's thoughts, which had been coherent words, changed to a brief flash of red and pink.

"A child, he says. Mustadio, I have… I have no experience in dealing with very young children." The Knight said quietly.

"When I was younger, I used to ask for sweets all the time." Mustadio replied. "I don't know if it works on Lucavi as well, but perhaps you may bribe him. I do not see a threat of punishment working— he could easily blast us to pieces with his magick right now if he could see us. The ones being punished would be us."

"Very well." Meliadoul looked back toward the larva-like dragon hanging above them.

_So ugly, he's cute, isn't he?_ Balthier asked.

"Quite," Mustadio agreed dryly.

"Zodiark, if you were inclined to stop and put us down safely, I might give you some sweets as a reward," the Holy Knight said weakly. Zodiark gave a hissing chuckle, then spoke in a voice that, while childish, had the undertone of a thousand serpents slithering over each other.

"Might? That is no guarantee."

"I _will_ give you sweets, but only if you set us down!" Meliadoul exploded. Zodiark stopped where he was, hanging in the air awkwardly.

"I cannot see. If you wish to be put down safely, you shall have to guide me to your destination, but I will not be going back to where my false master waits," he warned.

Mustadio quickly produced a lantern to light their path, and the holy knight directed them to a mostly flat area that seemed to have been a tiled pavilion of sorts, in ancient days. A hulking mass of metal loomed nearby, and under its shelter, Mustadio helped Meliadoul untangle herself from Zodiark's cradle. The moment she stopped touching it, Balthier's "presence" in her mind diminished.

"We should go back. Ramza probably needs us; that second-rate knight can barely kill a Lucavi without the help of another, never mind the most powerful one with only the help a Templar and Knight," she said.

"I'm not going back." Zodiark said stubbornly, curling and uncurling his tail. "I don't care if you try giving me more candy, but I will not go back to where the false Master is."

"False Master?" Mustadio cocked his head.

"Yes; my true master is Ffamran, who would normally command me as himself and a separate entity. However, here, our souls are much more conjoined, to the point that he must completely give up his body in order to give me mine," the Lucavi explained, and Mustadio's eyes widened with understanding.

"I see, it is like the rule that matter can neither be created nor destroyed in a chemical process," he said.

"But it can be removed from its original place, can't it? That stone is a piece of our soul, and we are missing it." Zodiark countered. "I cannot give Ffamran back until it is out of Elibidus's scheming claws." His body began to flake, dissipating into Mist. "Which would appear to be now…"

Balthier rubbed his eyes as he became solid. "Well, Meliadoul? Am I to await the pleasure of your wrath?"

"I don't feel very well…" Meliadoul rubbed her pounding forehead.

"I would attempt a spell, but Zodiark has eaten all my Magick." Balthier grimaced, looking away. "I should have told you about him sooner… more about him, that is."

"Don't dwell upon it."

As if sensing the awkward tension in the air, Mustadio quickly pointed to the metal hulk nearby. "What's that?"

"It looks to be an airship wreck, to me." Balthier leaped at the chance to get out of the situation. "Treasure beyond worth, indeed! Mustadio, Meliadoul, this is the _Strahl_! It is my airship!"

* * *

Balthier sank into the ancient pilot's chair. The controls were covered with slime and dust, but they still bore the same familiar shape after a thousand years. He looked at the old co-pilot's seat, pain curling around his chest as he realized it was empty.

"Well, Fran, you are an Ax and I am a Saint, yet the mark of a Heretic screams on my chest. Zodiark has apparently said part of my soul is missing, and I bear wounds that will not heal. Can my life get any stranger?" he said to the empty chair. There was a muffled thump.

"Balthier!" Mustadio cried, his voice echoing faintly in the corridor. "Balthier, Meliadoul has collapsed!"

* * *

"Balthier told you to treat it like a child, not a wild Chocobo!"  
- This is a reference to horses. In order to calm a panicked horse, some handlers will blindfold them so that they cannot see what they fear. This is also why horses you see in the cities as tourist attractions wear blinkers, so they cannot see the cars nearby. They can only see straight ahead. "You cannot fear what you cannot see," indeed.


	8. Justice and More Justice

Greetings, programs. I forgot to express gratitude for **niconugget** last time, my apologies. Thanks to Tango-chan (**ElTangoDeRoxanne**) who totally rocks my day with her reviews and her stories, and **emeraldonyxdragon**, who still reviews even though it's harder for them to do it now. I am still gratefull to **fallacies**, who requested this story. If you hadn't, I don't think I would be having this much fun.

Well, off to studying.

* * *

_Balthier's Log, page 8_

_Meliadoul is quite ill, but her condition does not seem to be deteriorating. However, she is in no position to fight. Mustadio and I are sitting ducks on this plateau—we are lucky no winged fiends have appeared. I do not know what we would do, for Mustadio is a good shot, granted, but he is no match for the creatures when they flock together. My magick returns slowly, but too slow. I do not want to be stuck here until the end of time— there must be some way off this island of rock!_

_-B _

* * *

Balthier helped Mustadio lift Meliadoul onto the corridor bunk, where, in another age, the real Judge Magister Gabranth expired. Quickly pulling his gloves off, the pirate pressed the back of his hand to Meliadoul's clammy, sweat-slicked forehead. The Libra spell contained in one of his charmed bracelets confirmed his worst fears.

"She has contracted Disease," Balthier said, "And I have no magick with which to cast the counter-spell, Cleanse. Would you happen to have remedies or vaccines with you, Mustadio?"

"I did not think we would get split up, and Disease is not so common in this time, so… I gave them all to Ramza." Mustadio said, looking very pale. Balthier got to his feet, pacing. Reaching within himself to touch his magickal core, he was disgusted by how tiny it was. He was also shocked to find that no matter how he paced, it would not regrow fast enough.

_Perhaps it is because the Stone Elidibus held contains part of your soul?_ Mateus questioned.

"Perhaps. Soul and Magickal power are very closely related because Soul determines Vitality. If a chunk of my soul is missing, it would explain many things." Balthier agreed.

_I'm sorry. This is my fault; if I had resisted Elidibus, this would not have happened and you would have all your magick still,_ Zodiark said tearfully. Sighing, the pirate gave him a mental pat on the head.

"You thought I was summoning you, remember? It's not your fault."

_But it is!_ Zodiark protested. _Do you recall our first battle, when you and Ashe and everyone came to claim me? I gave you Disease simply by touching you! And Meliadoul was hanging from me for so long…_

"Balthier, we need to focus on Meliadoul," Mustadio reminded him, quickly grabbing a rusted metal bucket from inside a crumbling cabinet as Meliadoul retched.

"She is ill from overexposure to the coating on Zodiark's skin." Balthier said, searching drawers and cupboards for anything that might help the situation. The cold temperatures of Midlight's Deep had done wonders for preserving the _Strahl_ and her contents. Ancient curatives were still as (mostly) fresh as the day they were sealed into the depths, as were various loots, but there were no vaccines or remedies to be found.

"You mean to say that Zodiark's body is a biological weapon?" Mustadio looked toward Meliadoul, whose face was splotched with pink and red. Snagging a fraying handkerchief from one of the drawers, he emptied the contents of his canteen onto it and put the cold cloth on her forehead.

"Yes, but there's no time to go into that. We need to find a way back to Ramza, right now." Balthier replied.

"We can't." the machinist said glumly. "The _Strahl_ is parked on a plateau surrounded by a chasm on all sides. Unless you can figure out how to get her to fly again, we are trapped here."

"Get her to fly— ha! I learned Advanced Airship Theory and Technique in my first year of the Akademy. Of course, I can get her to fly, but there is a problem: despite the fact that temperatures here have turned all the airship fuel into ice, most of it will still have leaked out over the years. Also, there's not enough room to fly her."

"Then it would seem we are stuck!" Mustadio cried. Balthier folded his arms across his chest, watching Meliadoul retch into the bucket again.

_What of your hovercycle?_ Mateus suggested after a time. _You should see if it is still in the cargo bay. It runs on Mist instead of fuel, so could you not use your magicite pendant to power it?_

"By the gods, I think you're right!" Balthier exclaimed.

"Right about what?" Mustadio looked alarmed.

"No, no, Mateus is right! Perhaps the hovercycle is still here… if I did not sell it later in life. She's a real beauty, a model of Bhujerban engineering!" Slinging one of Meliadoul's arms about his shoulders while Mustadio took the other side, they managed to maneuver down the hall and into the cargo bay.

The hovercycle was still there, albeit covered with millennia of dust and grime. Mustadio whistled, and Balthier could tell that it was all that the young man could do to stop himself from bounding forward and examining the machine.

"Incredible! This is also a flying machine?" when they came up to it, Mustadio dropped Meliadoul onto Balthier and eagerly studied the hovercycle.

"Aye. It's the second one I have owned, probably, unless Fran buys another one after I die. The first one was destroyed when I broke into the Palace of Rabanastre in Dalmasca."

"You broke into the Palace of Rabanastre? There are stories of the Stone War, and the Palace is included in it. Supposedly Bane of Rats, with Saint Balthazar and his partner, broke in and stole a valuable treasure." Mustadio's eyes gleamed with ill-disguised awe. "Did you meet them?"

Balthier neatly sidestepped the question. "Why is Balthazar a Saint?" he asked instead.

"Well… he's a Saint of the Church of Glabados, really. He sacrificed himself so that Ajora could foretell the Black Plague in Lesalia. I am sure that the Germonique Scriptures would say different— after all, they say that Ajora was no child of the Gods, but a man who tried to forward his own ends…" Mustadio explained. "Balthazar was a sky pirate, just like you. That ought to interest you. But did you meet Bane of Rats?" There was no shaking the boy!

Balthier opened the magicite compartment in the hovercycle, examining the stone within. The Mist had long bled out of the current stone, but luckily, they had a replacement. He pulled the auracite pendant from about his neck, removing the lump of rock on the platform inside the cycle's tank.

"I met Bane of Rats in the Palace, and I know him quite well. That's not his real name, though— it's Vaan. We called him Ratsbane because he trained for battle by fighting sewer rats. He was a rather annoying little brat, but very amusing." Balthier tossed the spent lump of magicite aside, putting the auracite in the chamber. Meliadoul watched the proceedings curiously, clutching the bucket to her chest.

"What of Ax of the—" Mustadio began, but Balthier cut him off.

"Oh please, no more of that silliness. Her name was— is Fran. Francesca is an ax, and my partner is not an ax." He fished about his neck for the key to start the hovercycle, slotting it into the keyhole and starting the engine. The auracite began to glow, Mist pouring out of it.

"_You're_ Saint Balthazar?" Meliadoul gaped. "I had to learn about you in order to become a holy knight, and I certainly don't remember you being a heretic."

"I'm no holy man, priest, anyth— ah, hell—" Balthier cursed as the hovercycle began to zoom forward, the accelerator stuck. He quickly pulled the brake lever. "For one, my name is not Balthazar, and as for sacrificing myself for a holy man? That doesn't sound like me at all, there must be a mistake. Mustadio, open the cargo doors, would you? There's a lever for manual operation somewhere…"

"It's stuck." Mustadio said. "But, would you mind if I shot the hinges off?"

"The _Strahl_ is pretty ragged as it is; a few more dents won't hurt, I suppose." He still could not help but wince as the cargo doors fell off. Mustadio climbed into the seat behind him, and Meliadoul sat in his lap, hugging the bucket.

"I can't believe it— I'm flying on a machine!" Mustadio gasped as they flew through the darkness. Balthier listened to the grind of gears and squeal of broken cogs inside the hovercycle.

"It won't last long, and I'm surprised it even works. When we are finished here, you can have it, if you can fix it," he said.

"You don't want to keep it?"

"I don't intend on staying here. I want to go home… it's too primitive here. No offense, but you are years away from rediscovering basic theories I learned in school. If you can fix this hovercycle, technology will start moving forward again." Balthier could not help but feel rather glum. He thought the future would be a place of innovation— of even better airships and even better technology, but no, he arrived to find himself in a world where the most impressive things _were_ ancient pieces of technology, and where the church pulled all the strings. It was all so… so disappointing.

"Have you met Ajora yet?" Meliadoul asked curiously around a dry heave. Balthier whipped the hovercycle around a spire of rock, his eyes focusing on Ramza's torch in the distance.

"I don't know. What does he look like?"

"He was young, I think, and he had white hair. He led the Zodiac Braves—" she began, but stopped. "At least, in the Scriptures, it says he does. Germonique would say differently."

"Zodiac braves… auracite, then. Anything to do with the Espers or Lucavi is pulled back to some sort of magical stone, nowadays. Before I came here, I was doing a job in Glabados, stealing auracite from the Cache for my employer. At the end, I would be paid handsomely and allowed to go free, but then this happened. I was shot with nethicite bullets while wearing reacting auracite, and here I am." Balthier mused. He could not, for the life of him, recall the lord enthroned in red!

_Did he have white hair?_ They'd never gotten to look, really. Balthier brushed a stray strand of hair away from his ear, his fingers running over the nick on it. He had brought another stone to the lord— a blue teardrop crystal. Fran had said it had a different power than normal auracite— part of Ultima's Anima was trapped inside. Oh _gods_, what had he done now? Giving power hungry lords powerful gods to control or be controlled by was not particularly clever…

* * *

Agrias quickly injected the vaccine serum into Meliadoul's arm and lay her against a rock, where she slept fitfully. Balthier faced Ramza, who clenched the Serpentarius stone in his fist protectively.

"I need the stones to rescue Alma— all of them! And because this one is included, I shall need it as well. You shan't have it!" Ramza held it to his chest. Balthier cocked his head, feeling the sluggish ripple of blood sliding down his own chest. At the sight of the stone, his scars had reopened.

"So you withhold from me a part of my own soul, a part of my own life's essence. Not very chivalrous, don't you think?"

"I'm sorry, Balthier. The Lucavi who are working with the church intend to use her as a sacrifice to resurrect the Bloody Angel. As Alma's blood kin, I cannot allow it!" Ramza dropped a hand to his sword as Balthier raised a hand to his gun.

"Can't allow it?" the pirate grinned, and it was not a pretty sight. "Whether you allow it or not, I'll take that stone. I am a sky pirate; if I take it from you while you breathe or pry it from your cold, dead hands, it makes no difference to me. Shall we see which is faster? My gun or your blade?" Ramza tightened his grip on the stone.

"I will take that chance! Mustadio, take the bag. I cannot fight whilst I hold it in my hands." Mustadio ran his hand through his braid, shaking his head, not knowing which side to take.

"I…" he whispered, but Agrias made the decision for him.

"I propose an exchange." she stepped between the quarrelling knight and pirate. "Balthier shall reaffirm Mateus's oath that Ramza can do with him as he wills it— and Ramza is going to will that Balthier remains loyal to our party. I will not suffer insurrection here. Ramza, you will give custody of the Serpentarius Stone to Balthier. When we get it, he can have Pisces as well. As long as he is with us, what does it matter if he holds the Stones or you?"

"Agrias, I will not—" Ramza began, but she turned toward him, eyes flashing.

"_Enough_," the knight hissed. "I am weary of your stubbornness. Because _you_ were so intent on finding the Stone, Balthier turned into Zodiark, Beowulf got his arm broken, and Meliadoul is recovering from the worst case of Disease I have ever seen! And what if Reis has been captured because we had to leave her outside when she did not fit into the entrance? Now make the exchange. I'll brook no arguments from you."

Ramza reluctantly shook Balthier's hand. The pirate placed a hand over his heart.

"I, the Sky Pirate Balthier, hereby reaffirm the oath of Mateus and take it as my own. There. Happy now?" The oath was almost snarled.

"I will not lie and say yes." Ramza said stiffly as he handed over the green stone. As Balthier held it in his hands, he felt a surge of warmth as his magick rushed back to him, welcoming the almost electrical thrum of stored Mist power under his skin. He collapsed, adrenaline wearing off as his soul fragment was returned, and all the exhaustion that had been waiting to set in crashed upon him. The last thing he saw before surrendering to the dark was Ramza angrily berating Agrias.

* * *

"You're back," Balthier's child-self drew pictures in the sand with his finger, glancing up when the sky pirate approached. "This world has changed."

"I noticed; it is snowing." Balthier replied dully.

"Indeed," the boy agreed. "You were in a bad mood before you came here, and I am afraid it has affected the weather somewhat. If you were willing to be a little more cheery when you came here, all this snow would turn to rain, and this world would become the beach it is supposed to be."

"I have a feeling that's not all it would take."

"You're right. It's not," the boy held out his hand, collecting a snowflake and watching it melt slowly in his palm. "It won't fill until you can guess my name."

"Let me guess— if I guess right, it will fill with water. If I am wrong, it will fill with your blood." Balthier sighed, while the boy grinned wickedly. It was a chilling sight—the expression did not sit well on a ten-year-old face.

"Shall we see if you can guess who I am?" he stood. "You are so close to me— in the real world as well."

"No more hints," Balthier said. "You're the missing fragment of my soul, aren't you? The one in the stone?"

"Correct. Guess my name, and I will return to you. You'll not see me here in this world again, unless you call."

"Well then; I know who you are. You're Ffamran. You're me." Balthier said. "What was your problem? Why did you leave?"

"I've been gone a long time, Balthier, but you just did not notice before I was imprisoned in the Stone. I needed you to accept me before I could return. You were _afraid_ of me, and I'm naught but a child!"

"I'm not afraid of you," Balthier burst out, but Ffamran silenced him with a glare.

"Then why did you kill me every time I was about to tell you my name?"

"I didn't—"

"There's no one else here, Balthier. This is your world—correction: _our_ world. You were afraid to know the truth, that I still existed. Even if you couldn't acknowledge it at the surface level, it was buried deep inside."

"If I killed you, how did you come back every time?" Balthier asked, narrowing his eyes. Ffamran began to fade, Mist rising from his body and sinking into Balthier's.

"You can't kill the dead, Balthier… we are dead. Both of us are lost and vengeful souls, unable to depart… wandering Ivalice searching for justice."


	9. Swallowed

I'm back from Finals! Thanks to **ElTangoDeRoxanne** (Tango-chan!) who is totally awesome and supportive, and **emeraldonyxdragon** and **fallacies** because you rock my day with your reviews and support even when I am super depressed and dark.

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__Balthier's Log, page 9_

_Apparently, I am a vengeful ghost. Here I was, thinking it was time travel, and that I could perhaps find a way to return to my time. I see now that was wishful thinking. Meliadoul suggests that the wounds on my chest are the wounds that killed me—they will never heal, and they will never stop paining me, so the best we could do was bind them in bandages. Curse the lord on his red throne, this is all _his_ fault… Strangely enough, despite the fact I am a ghost wandering Ivalice in search of justice, I still need to eat, drink, and stay healthy or else I will die (again, that is). Ramza still will not talk to me after the Zodiac Stone affair… Ah well, can't get along with everyone, right?_

_-B_

* * *

Balthier sneezed violently, shivering in the cold night air and wheezing pitifully as the bandages constricted about his chest.

"Please, Agrias, I think you are turning me into a mummy here," he gasped as Agrias gave the bandages another vicious yank.

"Hush. You were complaining your chest was bothering you again, so we are trying to fix that. Though, after you got the Serpentarius Stone back, it seems like the wounds are not bleeding as badly as before. Perhaps if we gave you the Pisces Stone, you would be completely healed." She suggested.

"As if Ramza would hand over the other one, even though you made him—ugh!— promise—Agrias!" Balthier wheezed, swatting at her when she gave another yank, pulling the bandages so tight that he keeled over coughing.

"Yes… the Serpentarius Stone reacted as soon as you touched it and shattered, if I remember. Something came out… it looked like a wispy little you." Mustadio rocked back and forth on his heels as he sat nearby, watching the spectacle of the knight bandaging the pirate.

"'Twas Ffamran," Balthier explained as he pulled his shirt back on, "the other me. He was very unlikable when I met him in my dreams."

"Aye, most dream people are." Beowulf agreed, leaning against one of Reis's massive legs. The Holy Dragon snorted, growling at him playfully. "Except you, Reis," he corrected himself. "You are marvelous, as usual."

Ramza watched them all moodily, slightly outside their little circle. Meliadoul looked toward him, concerned.

"Is he alright, do you think?" she asked quietly. Agrias sighed.

"I think he is simply sore about losing," she said. "He was not happy about giving up the stone. He thought he finally had the ticket to Alma's freedom—and he chose her wellbeing over Balthier's."

"I don't blame him," Balthier said. "I would have done the same in his shoes, but unfortunately, I am not in his shoes."

"So I suppose another layer has been added to our quest, then," Meliadoul turned away from her contemplation of Ramza to fix Balthier with her steely gaze. "I suppose now we had better think about how we can help you to move on. The Scriptures of Germonique ought to be of help, if you truly are Saint Balthazar, as you say."

"I say I am not Saint Balthazar, I am Balthier, and _Saint Balthazar_ is a gross perversion of my name," the sky pirate argued, acid tongued.

"As I said—Germonique ought to provide some sort of enlightenment, but alas! Ramza holds it as well." Meliadoul cast her hands up.

"He no longer listens to me," Agrias said glumly. "He accuses me of sympathizing with monsters and traitors to Ivalice. He has condemned me."

"Our group fractures," Beowulf sighed. Balthier shrugged, refusing to look into Mustadio's torn face.

"One act of blackness is enough to shatter a lifetime of purity," he tried to be comforting, but his own memories caused the words to have more bite than he intended. "I'm sorry; this is all my fault…" _One more act,_ he thought, looking toward the locked box where Ramza kept the Germonique Scriptures. _One more act, and it will be all over._

* * *

The lock came apart, smooth as butter, in his machinist's hands, and he removed his crude lock pick stealthily. The sound of slumber was heavy upon the camp, as was the weight of Mist, dancing upon the heads of his "comrades" and entrapping them in their own dreams. Except for Reis. The Holy Dragon watched him shrewdly with her bright green eyes, knowing what he did. Yet, she did not try to stop him as he lifted the lid of the box. Perhaps she sympathized with him, or perhaps she meant to betray him—either way, it did not matter. He pulled the ancient, moldy book into his lap, brushing his hand across the cracked, leather cover. In a way, Balthier almost dreaded to see what was inside—to see the cause of his own demise.

"Get over yourself, man. You're already dead; if you move on, maybe you'll see Fran again."

_You didn't see Fran when you drifted through the ether for one-thousand years,_ the darker part of his psyche, gathered up into and concentrated in the being known as Mateus, whispered.

"A soul that has no attachments to the mortal plain will move on, dissipating and rejoining the Great River." Balthier recited one of Fran's old adages as he flipped through the flaking pages.

_Ajora… greed… magicite… greed… Ajora… diety… red… Ultima… red… Ajora… red… red… red… it is all red,_ he read broken bits and pieces as he perused the ancient text, searching for a semblance of his name. He finally found it, near the front of the book.

_Ajora was no infant gifted with speech in order to save the rest of the world from the destruction of the Black Death that rides far and wide over the land. This legend he created for himself. I write it as I heard it, for I have sworn to tell nothing but the truth in these writings of mine._

_He confided in me today, saying that he had converted another. I have taken it to mean "captured."Ajora can no longer be trusted to tell the truth. Frightened at his own audacity, he has taken to fooling himself wildly. I asked him who it was he had taken, and why._

"_It was a sky pirate," he said, "One I had employed in order to obtain the auracite."_

_I remembered that particular fellow, and I inquired why he had seen fit to imprison a man who had done nothing but what he was commanded._

"_He ran," Ajora said. "He did not uphold his promise. He was going to take _her_ and run." My blood runs cold; Ultima, that twisted temptress, has tightened her grip about Ajora's mind, more so now that her prison stone has been placed into his hands. He fancies himself a king with her backing. More and more I see his ghostly white hands dance over the black stone and red velvet of his throne like a spider caressing a fly in its web._

Balthier's heart labored and tripped in his chest. Oh gods, what had he done?

_The pirate must be warned; I went to his cell last night but he was insensate. The mark of a heretic is burned into his chest, but it has become infected. I pity him; the mark will pain him for the rest of his life, what little of it he has left… tonight, I will try again. If I can warn him in time, he can escape._

…_Oh horror! I went to the cell and found Ajora in it instead. The pirate is gone. I hoped he escaped, but upon further questioning, that hope was dashed to pieces._

"_He has ascended," Ajora says proudly. "Saint Balthier was gifted with the Speech in his last moments, and he told me something of great worth."_

_Saint, I said, struggling to keep from shaking. You marked him a heretic, and his belief in religion was next to none. Whatever would he tell you?_

"_You must listen to me, Germonique, and warn the people. Their Saint, Balthier, who I decree shall be remembered with even more reverence than I, brought me warning with his dying breath. 'Drink not the well water, and close the well, for soon calamity shall befall it. Seal it up at once, that none may drink of it.' That was his last utterance."_

_I asked about the whereabouts of the pirate's body. Ajora said not to worry—simply that I must do my duty and warn the people… I did not. I disobeyed his wishes, I went to the well instead. The body of Balthier, Ajora's glorious saint, floated in water red with his own blood. _

_I could not move—I could not breathe, so great was my horror. Several days later, the body was gone. I asked Ajora once again, what has happened to the pirate's body. He answered that it was interred in the grandest sort of tomb in Bervenia, one of stone and in a crypt where one day, he himself would be buried. _

_Must Balthier's body be desecrated, even after his dishonorable death? Must his body and soul be locked away deep underground where it will never see the sky or feel the sun play over the grave? Must Ajora continue to torment him, even in the afterlife? I have come to this conclusion:_

_Ajora was no child of the gods._

_He was a mere mortal, no more divine than you or I._

_He was a revolutionary, who fought to realize his own ambitions._

_He was no lover of peace - no hero who would sacrifice himself for the good of humanity._

_I pity Balthier, who only served to further his cause with his meaningless and ignominious death. Does not Ajora know what happens to those whose bodies are not properly taken care of after death? They wander the earth, unable to move on until they are appropriately recognized for what they were. Ajora, you do not know what fell machine you have set into motion with your folly—perhaps you will not realize it now, but surely, you will regret it later. May the ghost of Balthier the dread Sky Pirate haunt your footsteps if you truly rise again, and fling you back to the depths of the hell from which you sprang._

_It has been two days since the corpse polluted the water. The Black Plague has come to Bervenia._

* * *

Balthier marked the page with a spare scrap of paper from his log, closing the book and replacing it within its box. _That_ was the secret, the story of his demise. He was killed and his body dumped in a well for some _false god_ to play upon the minds of the people! It had to be amended; just as Germonique predicted, he returned from beyond the wall of silver glass. That meant that Ajora, too, had risen, curse that little brat. The pirate tightened the saddle about his Chocobo, growling curses that Fran would have Silenced him for had she heard him. He looked back toward the camp where everyone still slept deeply in their Mist imposed slumber, and Reis still watched him with her lamp-like green eyes. He swung onto the back of the bird, urging it into a gallop away from the circle of fire and light, opting instead to leave in the cover of darkness. It was the best he could do to relieve them, after all, it was his fault their group was fracturing. However, when he looked back, it seemed as if a darker patch of shadow was following him. Balthier urged the Chocobo to go faster, feeling the wind blowing through the nick in his ear and setting his earrings swinging, and the shadow leveled into a spear on the ground and darted toward him.

It absorbed the Chocobo first, swallowing it in liquid darkness. Balthier leaped clear just as the poor bird all but vanished, disappearing with a shrill squawk. Drawing his gun, he fired two shots into the shadow before it caught him, climbing his legs and twining itself lovingly across his chest before crawling over his face. He looked toward the cold moon, as if he might find some salvation there, before the darkness swirled over his eyes and he was devoured.


	10. The Smell of a Wet Lion

Thanks for reviewing, **Tango-chan**. I had planned that plot twist with Balthier's demise a loooooooooooong time. Not originally when I came up with what I was going to do (because you know I have no outlines and mostly improv with whatever I came up with and link them together) but I suddenly just thought, that would be really crazy wierd. And thanks also to **emeraldonyxdragon**, because yes, Balthier snacks are fun. :D

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_Balthier's Log, page 10_

_**D**__O__**wN w**__IT__**h t**__hE T__**r**__AI__**tO**__r __**L**__uC__**A**__v__**i. Mu**__lL__**O**__nd__**e**__. I a__**M**__ W__**a**__iTIng._

* * *

"He read the Germonique Scriptures!" Ramza exclaimed, looking into the box where he kept the book. The lock was in several pieces, but in their neat components, rather than being smashed to pieces. Mustadio whistled.

"That must have taken some measure of skill," he said, but Ramza turned on him angrily.

"Now is not the time to be awed by a thief's lock picking skills, Mustadio! We are lucky all he did was read them, not steal them."

"I fear that what he read has brought him to some grief; I do believe he has run off and gotten himself into some sort of foolish predicament," Agrias said as she and Meliadoul looked over the page marked out by a blank paper from Balthier's log.

"The body of Balthier, Ajora's glorious saint, floated in water red with his own blood," Meliadoul read. "May the ghost of Balthier the dread Sky Pirate haunt your footsteps if you truly rise again, and fling you back to the depths of the hell from which you sprang… the Black Plague has come to Bervenia." She closed the book, shoving it into Ramza's hands. "Damned Fish! Idiot Snake! Foolish Pirate! Come, we must after them, for while Mateus, Balthier, and Zodiark are each powerful in their own right, they cannot topple the Church by themselves!" Swinging onto her Chocobo, Meliadoul turned back toward them. "Well?"

Mustadio nodded fervently. "I'm with her."

"The Chocobo tracks lead away toward Bervenia—Reis agrees, it seems she saw him leave. It looks as if Balthier wanted to go back to where it all started and try to find a path from there." Beowulf said, examining the trail left in the soft earth.

"Wait! But what about—" Ramza began, but Agrias silenced him with a look.

"If we find him, we find him and bring him with us. Don't you think he would a valuable asset against Folmarv Tengille? He did not truly know that staying with us would lead him down the path to meet with Ajora again." Ramza sighed, rubbing his eyelids.

"Very well. But… I don't think Balthier got very far."

Less than a quarter of a league away, the track stopped. The ground was torn up in a long swath following the Chocobo tracks, and suddenly, the claw prints stopped, swallowed up in a large upheave of soil. There were some smaller, Hume footprints nearby, but they too, were eventually caught in the storm of violently turned earth. There was a small book nearby, bound in black suede and partially buried in the ground. Beowulf knelt, prying it out of the loose soil mound. "It's Balthier's diary," he said, handing the book to Ramza. The knight's eyebrows rose as he skimmed the entries, and quickly furrowed as he reached the last page with writing on it.

"This last page is not by his hand," he said, passing the log around the small group. "It is much looser, and sloppier, and there is a great amount of soil stuck to the page. It would seem to be written by his kidnapper instead."

"Mullonde: the seat of the Church of Glabados," Meliadoul breathed. "What sort of magick did this?" she swept her hand toward the devastated landscape.

"Let us go to Mullonde, then. Alma is there, and we can try to save Balthier while we are there," Mustadio suggested. "Though, I cannot help but say that this land stinks of Lucavi."

* * *

Balthier opened his eyes slowly, feeling the pulse of blood thumping in his ears and a vicious headache building behind his forehead. He was lying in an empty room, but crests of the Templarate and the Church of Glabados hung from the walls. Strange black bands, similar to the shadow that had eaten him the night before, were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and one was stretched over his mouth. Experimentally, he licked the band over his mouth, curiosity getting the better of his sense of caution, and his tongue came away with a few granules of… soil? Mateus was intrigued.

_A creature with mastery over earth? Hold still and stop struggling against those bonds, boy. You'll not get out of them that way; look around a little more. Perhaps we can make more sense of our predicament,_ he said. Balthier lifted his head in order to see the room better. It seemed like he was lying at the focal point of some sort of summoning circle, and when he rolled to the side, he was not surprised to see the spell rune for "earth" scorched into the ground. He furrowed his brow, wondering what sort of magick his captors intended to work upon him, but Mateus shook his head. _The spell is old,_ he explained, _the magick spent. If I were to take a guess, this circle was used in order to summon us from wherever we were before. The scent of Hashmal, Bringer of Order, is heavy in the air—I would recognize the smell of wet lion anywhere, that unbox-trained kitten. He was likely able to find us by locking onto my signature, because Adrammelech felt me before he died._

Either way, despite the fact that Mateus assured him that the circle's power was spent, he did not like the feeling of sitting in the middle of it like some sort of sacrifice in a primal ritual. After an indeterminable amount of time, the door opened to admit a middle-aged man in light purple robes similar to those that Meliadoul wore.

_Behold, the wet lion himself,_ Mateus snarled. Somehow, despite the fact that Balthier was gagged, the Lucavi still managed to make himself heard.

"Mateus," the man nodded agreeably. "It is good to see that you have not changed much over the years. I must say, you have found yourself a most admirable host."

_I will not say the same for you,_ Mateus replied. _At least I have been blessed to have a host with good looks and charms, while you are in possession of naught but a smelly old man._

"Vain as usual, I see. I am nothing but a smelly old man? Having Folmarv Tengille under my command grants me more power than you could ever hope to see while you inhabit your little sky pirate. I am the leader of the Knights Templar, a position of unspeakable sway, while you are a worm ground under the heel of justice. Perhaps you would favor me over Adrammelech with your loyalty? After all, lightning and ice may not mix, but there is nothing against earth and Ultima's holy light." He squatted to Balthier's level, grabbing a fist full of short, brown and gold strands and pulling Balthier's head up to look him in the eye.

_I'll not change my stance on this, Folmarv,_ Mateus purred, purposefully using the Lucavi's host's name in order to infuriate him. _I've killed Adrammelech, and I'll kill you next._

"So staunch, for a lesser demon," Folmarv smiled thinly. "You are at _my_ mercy, Mateus, you and your pirate ghost," he drew his sword, leveling it against Balthier's back. The pirate could feel the prick of the blade between his ribs, and knew that in seconds, the blade would enter his back and stab through his heart. "Death to the traitor Lucavi,"

Balthier closed his eyes, gathering his strength to defend himself, but there was a light rap at the door.

"Lord Tengille? Ramza Beoulve approaches the Cathedral, with your daughter, the rogue Templar, the lady knight, and the Machinist," a quiet voice said. "Shall I deal with them?"

"No, I will deal with them myself. It looks like your life has been spared, pirate. Consider yourself lucky, for now. You have another hour to live." Folmarv sheathed his blade and walked to the door, slamming it behind him. Balthier heaved a sigh of relief, resting his forehead against the cool stone floor.

Rain pattered against the lone window in the room. Inching his way awkwardly along the ground, he managed to get his chin onto the sill and look out. It was a double paned window, and high in a cathedral belfry. Jumping out of the window would result in turning into a pirate-flavoured pancake on the cobblestone street hundreds of feet below.

_There is an easier way, you know._ Mateus hummed, as Balthier forlornly watched people go back and forth doing their business on the street below, unaware of the drama playing out above them. They scurried about the street like ants, trying to get out of the falling rain. The temperature lowered as the Esper drifted towards reality, frost crystals forming on the windowpane until Balthier could barely distinguish the valiant red of Ramza's armor and the rich green of Meliadoul's cloak because of the amount of ice. Using his forehead, he scrubbed some of it away, watching as they felled the last Templar and burst inside. _We really ought to stop moping_. _All three of us know that Hashmal will play those poor Humes false. Whatever he promised them, he will not give up._ Balthier knew he was right, and he awkwardly hopped to the door, studying the lock. Pressing his ear to the door, he could hear footsteps outside, the rasp of metal sword on sheath.

_Goddess Mother, they are coming back to kill us! _Zodiark shrieked. Balthier barely managed to scrabble backward before the door banged open, bouncing off its hinges, and a Templar stood in the doorway, sword drawn.

"By the order of Captain Tengille, I sentence you to death!" the man shouted, raising his sword, but Balthier was going to have none of that. He swung his legs out from beneath him, balancing precariously on his bound hands, and knocked the Templar off his feet. Before the man could rise from where he lie on the ground winded, Balthier surrendered his body to Mateus, becoming nothing but Mist and Life energy floating on the wind. He slipped free of the earth bonds that Folmarv used to bind him, no longer material, and the Lucavi pounced on their hapless victim. Mateus chuckled cruelly as the ice goddess used her tail to sweep the Templar-turned-icicle aside. However, as he turned to exit the room, he discovered the one, fatal flaw in their plan: Balthier may have fit through the doorway, but a ten-foot tall, six-foot wide suit of armor did not. Mateus cursed in an archaic, lisping tongue, peering through the doorway at the chaos that reigned beyond.

Balthier sighed. They had not planned this part of the daring escape at all well. _Just break the door_, he snarled at Mateus. _It's not like we could attempt stealth anymore anyway. _Chuckling wickedly, Mateus twirled his trident.

"And it is also not every day that you give me permission to break things," he said, raising his weapon and slamming it into the wall. He burst through the falling rubble, a screaming ice blizzard howling in his wake. Any man in his path was left behind as an elaborate Hume ice sculpture, frozen comically in whatever action he was doing when Mateus blew by. Destroying another wall, Mateus dropped through a stairwell, dodging bits of dropping debris as he went into free fall. "Come, Ffamran! Time for the flying you love so much!"

_I enjoy flying when securely in a nice, safe, airship!_ Balthier cried. If he had a stomach, he was sure it would have had steelings doing cartwheels inside. Mateus came tumbling out of the rafters of the Great Hall, bowling over Folmarv and his two companions with a wall of magick to halt his descent. Ramza, Mustadio, Agrias, and Meliadoul stood there, blood stained and panting, but struck dumb upon his dramatic entrance. Mateus used his long, spindly, spiderlike arms to push himself back into the air.

"Well?" he demanded. "Have I made an entrance worthy of the leading man I inhabit?" In a rush and a bound, Mustadio had wrapped his arms about the Ice Goddess's tail, ignoring the cold. Mateus rustled his scales uncomfortably.

"We feared you were executed, Balthier. My father tricked us—he took the Germonique Scriptures and Ramza's sister, and now he makes to flee to Orbornne!" Meliadoul explained.

"I would not use such shameful, cowardly words such as 'flee,' dear daughter," Folmarv said, standing back up. "Our honor dictates that we avenge Belias and the others before we make our tactical withdrawal. I see Ramza and Mateus here: they are the ones who must pay for the wanton slaying of our most noble brothers. Meliadoul, daughter of mine: why not come with us? You are a most Holy Knight of the Templarate, and you lot is not to be thrown in with heretics and traitors."

Meliadoul looked toward Ramza and the companions she had come to know over the time she had travelled, but her eyes came to rest upon Mateus.

"Balthier," she touched the Ice Goddess's scales, and felt the brush of Balthier's conscious against her mind. "I thought I was ready for this, I thought, after our talk on the boat to Warjilis, that I could finally do it. Seeing him in person… it is different from what I expected."

_I did try to warn you,_ Balthier said grumpily. _Meliadoul, that man is not your father anymore. He is Hashmal, Bringer of Order, without a doubt, and when Mateus again refused to join their cause, he meant to kill us. _

"He smells like wet lion," Mateus added. Meliadoul bit her lip, turning back to Folmarv.

"Are you truly the father I have always known?" she asked quietly.

"Of course I am, child," he said gently. "Why do you fight on their side? Why do you turn against your own kin?"

"Because my own kin has ceased to be the man he once was."

"I do not understand."

"The marquis Elmdore de Limberry became a fiend when he used a Zodiac stone, and he was in league with you for many seasons. At Riovanes, a monster killed my brother Isilud, and all the others. It was you, wasn't it?"

Folmarv's face darkened. "Monster? You think us monsters? Look, Mateus, the truth is known. She may speak to you with pretty words, but she sees Lucavi as nothing more than crass beasts!"

"Appearance does not a monster make, Hashmal, for when we rose against Vayne Solidor and the atrocities he committed against the Dynast Queen, did he not appear human but for the very end? Did he not deceive the civilians he was supposed to serve? Perhaps he looked human—but a monster slithered beneath his skin. I see the same in you, for it is the thoughts and actions that make the monsters here." Mateus replied.

"It is true… you are not my father," Meliadoul whispered, raising her sword, but Folmarv smiled malevolently, drawing his hood over his face.

"We will serve our vengeance another day. I would normally serve penance to you for speaking against me so, daughter, but to Orbornne Monastery we must go. Give chase if you dare it." In a burst of light, he teleported and was gone, along with his two companions.

_My father did the same,_ Balthier murmured, and Meliadoul saw a flash of sepia brown behind her eyes, recognizing the sky pirate's sympathy. _I hate it when they do that._

"These manipulative Lucavi are even more craven than I had thought." Ramza said glumly. "They've taken Alma with them."


	11. Red is for Bloody Angel

Thanks to **ElTangoDeRoxanne**, and **emeraldonyxdragon** for your reviews! You guys rock this story! … I got an infection in my wisdom teeth holemabobs. So now I'm on penicillin, and it tastes like metal mushrooms… ick. Well, soon this story will be over… and _The Sound of Madness _begins! By the way… where's **fallacies**-san?

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_Balthier's Log, page 11_

_Despite how ugly Hashmal's handwriting is, I cannot bring myself to remove or destroy the page he wrote in my log; it is something that happened to me, and so I will make it my own. Seeing it makes me think about how much longer I will have to wait before I can leave. Despite my young appearance, my mind is still that of a forty-two year old man. I suppose what they say about souls not aging (past a certain point, or else I might be an infant right now) is true, but minds clearly do. We made to go to Orbornne at first, but we could not leave Mullonde yet, for what we found in the depths of Mullonde Cathedral was a shocking blow to Ramza…_

_-B_

* * *

Balthier wrapped his hands around a warm mug of mulled wine, sighing as he felt heat surge through his frozen palms. The transformation into Mateus always took a toll on his body, as he was unable to truly cope with the Esper's freezing temperatures. Meliadoul slid into the chair next to him, dumping a package onto the rough tabletop.

"For you," she said shortly, studying the gold inlay on her sword as if embarrassed. Mustadio came through the door, a smirk on his face, while Balthier paused, the wine halfway to his lips. Mustadio did look so much like Ffamran, sometimes. Just cut that horrid braid off, and…

"It's not poison or anything, is it?" Balthier said quickly to distract himself. Meliadoul looked at him out of the corner of her eyes.

"No. You are an instrumental part of our party, and you are supposed to be helping us find Hashmal. Just open the box, please."

"Hurry, or she will skewer you, Captain," Mustadio encouraged him, pushing the package almost into Balthier's lap with excitement. The sky pirate rolled his eyes, catching both mug of wine and brown wrapped box with ambidextrous hands before Mustadio could upset either of them.

"Please, Captain is what we call old man _Basch_ nowadays. With my rebirth into this time period as a handsome young fellow, I prefer to be distinguished from that age," he said, breaking the crude wax seal and sliding the packet loose of its wrappings. Inside the box, a bag of hard candies nestled amongst brightly colored tissue paper. Balthier raised his eyebrows, touching the soft, ludicrously blue, purple, green, and maroon paper. "What… why?"

"I made a promise with Zodiark," Meliadoul said, refusing to look at him. "I bought his loyalty with sweets."

_And my loyalty is hard earned, indeed. I shall savor every sweet,_ Zodiark responded joyfully, while Balthier relayed the message in a lazy drawl. _Hashmal waits underneath Mullonde Cathedral; escape, he did not, but rather moved into a position harder for us to reach._

"However," Balthier continued, now voicing his own opinion, "I cannot help but wonder if it would be more prudent if we did not pursue, but go directly to Orbornne, so we can stop him from opening the portal. Should we pursue him into the crypt beneath the cathedral, we might be detained by a distraction set up by the Lucavi."

"Therein lies the dilemma," Ramza pointed out. "Going to Orbornne would allow us to stop them from opening the portal, but in the meantime, Hashmal could do even more evil and make even more dastardly plans."

_Strange magicks rise from within the Cathedral, and I do not like it. What you find, you may not like._ Mateus warned.

"I respect your opinion as the eldest of all of us, Mateus, but I will journey into the crypt. We must keep pressure on Hashmal so that he may do nothing else." Ramza said. "Who will go with me?"

"I shall," said Agrias. "I will not let you face the perils alone."

"And I," Meliadoul added. "The fact Father is now a monster, begging your pardon, Balthier, does not change the fact he was once my father. I must make amends."

"I'm still in debt to you, Ramza, and I owe you fifty-thousand gil… can't run off yet, right?" Mustadio said sheepishly, glancing at Agrias.

"Well then," Balthier knocked back the last of his wine and stood. "Let's get this over with. I am afraid that age has not given me patience when it comes to chaperoning children."

"We're not children!"

"They all say that."

* * *

Descending through the basement levels of the Cathedral until they entered the crypt, the elaborate carvings of natural flora and fauna changed into angels crying green, scummy tears from crumbling faces. The light from Ramza's torch flickered feebly against the wall, throwing the weeping faces into sharp relief but making the shadows on the ground even blacker. Even Zodiark, the Dark Lucavi, whimpered thinly, sinking further into Balthier's mind in an attempt to hide.

"You are certain that Hashmal is here?" Mustadio asked from his place behind the pirate.

"Absolutely," he said with the utmost conviction. "The leading man never makes mistakes."

"But what of your untimely death? Surely that was not in your plans when you unwittingly brought Ajora the auracite that would enable all _this_ to happen?" Mustadio quipped. The pirate scowled and did not answer, choosing instead to contemplate a cobweb swaddled chandelier that seemed to be made from human bones. Balthier frowned, picking out the gaping eyeholes of skulls and the smooth numbs of femurs.

"Meliadoul, what is this madness?" Agrias whispered in horror as she raised her torch higher.

The walls were covered in bones, arranged artistically to form columns, murals, and other simply macabre shapes stretching away into the high, cavernous darkness.

"I was not aware of the existence of such a place," Meliadoul replied, her breath floating in the air like a ghost. "Mullonde is the seat of the church of Glabados, where it is said that Ajora gained sainthood with the Zodiac Braves. Fear not, pirate; your body was interred far away in Bervenia. Your bones will not be among those in this crypt."

They quickly passed out of the corridor of bones, Mustadio nearly tripping over himself in his haste to leave.

The next room contained a coffin within a circle of candles. Folmarv stood over it, smiling.

"I fear I've no more time to waste on you, brash pup. I wish I could simply bid you farewell, but I suspect you'll miss my company too much to part ways so easily. I shall instead return you to the Father; I will delight to guide you to His keeping and he will no doubt receive you with open arms. This sanctuary holds a sarcophagus—as if Fate lends her hand!"

The Leo Stone around his neck gleamed faintly before with a blinding flash, summoning a host of strange undead beasts. Ramza drew his sword.

"Stand firm, comrades! We will not waver!" he cried. Folmarv smirked darkly, touching the Stone again.

"Claws and fangs are well and good, but death is sooner served by steel. This one shall be your foeman as well. Zalbaag, arise! Once a brother of yours, but now reborn in immortality unto us; you're a heretic already, Ramza. Why not a kinslayer as well? Zalbaag, deliver me the head of that young man before you; he must not leave alive!" Folmarv shouted, as from the depths of the sarcophagus, something stirred.

A hand, grey and decaying, gripped the edge of the coffin, hauling the corpse out from within. Zalbaag's broken face appeared, followed by his body covered in rusting armor. His eyes, milky white and bloodshot, came to rest on Ramza, before he lunged with surprising alacrity.

"Bloody hell!" Balthier cried, stemming the flow of expletives before he could further malign the ears of his companions. Ramza barely managed to block Zalbaag's sword before the zombie bowled him over and continued on a straight line for the others behind him.

"Lord Brother, it is I! Do you not know your own blood?" Ramza shouted as Zalbaag staggered back to his feet.

"Ramza? Is that you?" Zalbaag responded, surprised, even as he lunged once more. "What is this place? It is so dark, and I… I cannot see," he frowned, looking about blindly even as the light from Mustadio's lantern played over his grey face. "What am I doing? Do I stand? Sit? I have no sensation… as if I had no limbs…"

"You are being controlled by Lord Folmarv, who is a Lucavi demon!" Ramza tried to reason with his now undead brother.

"Just like Dycedarg…" Zalbaag muttered as he took another near lethal swipe. Mustadio tried to shoot him, but he dodged quickly. "Am I… fighting you? Why would I do such a thing? Ramza, please, flee… or else I may strike you down."

"Heed not the false feelings in your mind!" Ramza cried, but Zalbaag simply fought on.

"He has no control over his body," Agrias explained as Ramza did his best to stop his brother without hurting him. "His body is a puppet with an ineffective spirit attached to it. Even if he understands, he cannot stop."

"Another reason to hate that lion," Balthier muttered, though whether it was his own sentiment or Mateus's, he was unsure. Finally, when Meliadoul distracted Zalbaag long enough for Ramza to plunge his sword through the zombie's heart, Zalbaag fell to the floor.

"F-forgive me, Ramza… I have caused you much pain… Please, save Alma. You are… her only hope…" he coughed, bloodstained scum running from the corner of his lip.

"Zalbaag, stay with us, brother! Balthier, use some of your Dark magick—heal him, please!" Ramza turned to the pirate, distraught, but Balthier bit his lip uncertainly.

"No, don't… I'll only get up and fight again… I can't see, Ramza, and I cannot feel. I am not in pain, it is not so bad. This way, I can pass on, and finally be free. There was… a Viera… beyond the wall of glass…" Zalbaag whispered feebly as his body began to burn.

"The Viera: what was her name?" Balthier quickly grabbed one of his cold, oozing hands. "I beg you, tell me."

"It was Fran… the Viera sky pirate of legend… she waits beyond the wall of glass for her partner to find peace… only then, she said, can she move on herself. Ramza—brother—I… farewell. And thank you—!" he convulsed, before his body exploded in a flash of lightning and a roar of green flame.

"Zalbaag!" Ramza cried as the smell of burning flesh filled the room. Balthier clenched his fists, feeling his gloves digging into his skin.

"She's still there… I suppose I had better get moving, I would not dare keep you waiting, Fran. It's ungentlemanly."

* * *

The Chocobos were ill at ease, and something interminably foul scented the breeze. It was the scent of change, as if one of the cornerstones of Ivalice shifted when no one was looking. All the way to Orbornne, strange creatures of shadow and cold flame leaped from their hiding places in the forest fringes and from under stones to attack them. Balthier numbly blasted them to pieces with his gun, his fingers aching from loading, reloading, and reloading once more. The sun hung low on the horizon, red as a ruby, and the roadside ditch ran with blood.

_No_, Mateus whispered uncertainly, _It is water, that is all._ _It is not blood._

_Red,_ Zodiark murmured, _Red to herald the return of the Bloody Angel. _

Another demon, felled by their blades. Its black ichor mingles with the red water as the Chocobos tramp its body into the dust. Mustadio held a small pack of shot to Balthier, who took it with bleeding hands. His chest cramped uncomfortably, and his breath whistled in his throat as he focused his eyes on the highest spire of the Orbornne Monastery.

"There!" Ramza pointed to the figures vanishing inside. "They flee again! After them!"

Balthier stumbled off his mount, almost unable to walk until he completed a Curaga rune against his own chest, his stained fingers inking the mark in blood. When they rushed into the Monastery, the voices of their prey drifted from below.

"My Lord, I shall take care of things here… please, go ahead."

"Good." There was an incantation and the smell of strong magick. Light flashed in the hall before them. Ramza shattered the door with one stroke of his sword before bursting upon Folmarv's henchmen in the midst of preparing a new teleportation circle.

A tall, gaunt man in the blue robe of a Templar turned toward them, a grim smile on his face. "You've kept us waiting, Ramza. You have come far, I congratulate you, but you shall come no farther! Your heretic bones will rest here in the holy darkness."

"There are no heretics but for you and the followers of Lord Folmarv Tengille, betrayers of the people who have invested in you their trust," Meliadoul said firmly. "This sword I bear in penance of ignorance, I wield against you and those who would tarnish the name of the church. Lucavi, Templar traitors, prepare!"


	12. The Lovely Dark

It's almost done... next up will be the epilogue, and then it will be over. *sniff*... oh well, it was fun while it lasted! I will be moving on to **When Sand in the Hourglass Rises** and **The Sound of Madness** from now on, and whenever inspiration strikes, of course.

Thanks to **Tango-chan** and **emeraldonyxdragon** because they were super patient while I was dragging my butt to get this out. I just... felt really meh for a while so I am glad that they are willing to bear with me.

I must also thank **Tango-chan** a little extra because she works with me to produce our little spinoff/side stories to our Eternal!Lightning and Undead!Balthier stories from her **So Starstruck Series** and my **World Traveler Series**. The last one she wrote was over 7000 words! Thank you for your hard work! NOW GO READ HER STORIES!

**A/N Edit 2/21/2011:** I forgot to mention that there is a reference to Tango-chan's _Time's Scar_ in here! If you find it, cyber cupcakes to you!

* * *

_Balthier's Log, page 12_

_Loffrey was disgustingly easy to defeat, but for a moment, we feared he would rise again, for we felt the touch of godhood upon him, and he claimed Hashmal granted him immortality. He died all the same, Folmarv's words never truer when he told us in Mullonde that sure death is mete by steel. However… his last act was to send us through the portal for our dance with destiny. I am not sure whether this is a good thing, or if there is tragedy waiting to happen._

_-B_

* * *

"…Without the glyph, the gate… there can be no return. Never again will you see the skies of Ivalice." Loffrey laughed bitterly, and continued laughing until it trailed off into a thin death rattle.

"Alma is near," Ramza rose to his feet from where he had been kneeling next to the dying man, but Meliadoul stood in his way, blocking the path further into the Graveyard of Airships.

"Stop, Ramza, and think before you act. Think you do, that you are ready to face Hashmal at the moment? Stumbling away into the darkness muttering about Alma is not very sensible to me." Meliadoul crossed her arms angrily. Ramza bristled.

"So you would willingly condemn her to death?"

"Ramza, this isn't about Alma, it's about you—and _us_." Meliadoul snapped. Mustadio rocked back and forth on his feet, clearly uncomfortable and indecisive on whom he should back when Balthier interjected.

"Don't you see? This is a trap, laid by hands more skilled than the pitiful lunkheads who attempted to ensnare me in Dorter. The Bloody Seraph's thirst is not yet sated, and Hashmal intends to offer _us_ as her wine! And what will happen to Alma then, hm? Will she join you on the other side? Beyond the wall is not what you imagine, princeling," he spat.

"Think you can lecture me, pirate?"

"My temper is high, little prince. While not the most optimal condition, it was better being a wisp of broken dreams in the wind than a half-dead hume about to rendezvous with death again. Beowulf had the right idea to leave while he still could."

"I can relieve you of your suffering, Lucavi demon. Just say the word." Ramza smiled nastily, the sickly light from Mustadio's lantern playing off his face. His hand is on his sword; he has no subtlety, and the pirate smirks to see the boy's rampant, romantic youth in all its glory.

"Swords? You bore me, child." Balthier turned away, his eyes scanning the Necrohol and picking out a faint light in the distance. "If you are so set upon rescuing your dear sister, save your energy for the real demon, not the ghost of the past."

"Ramza," Agrias spoke up gently. "I am going to ask you now, as a friend who cares for your wellbeing, not as one who would question your motives: truly, are you ready to face the ancient threat? To seal Ultima cost the Braves their lives in the end."

"Only Alma matters, Agrias. With the glyph broken, Hashmal is trapped here, so we can escape and leave." He began walking toward the light in the distance, and the others began trailing him. Mustadio bit his lip, nudging Balthier's arm.

"Do you think he remembers that we can't leave either?"

The sky pirate shrugged, easily dismissing the question and instead concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other without his knees giving out. The sensation of a giant wrapping its hands around his ribcage returned, and his breath whistled in his throat as he struggled to breathe. Mustadio and Meliadoul looked toward him, concern in their eyes, and he realized he'd stopped, leaning against a crumbling wall and clutching his heart with sweat-slicked hands. There was blood on his shirt, standing out in spots where his death-scars were. Fighting back a wave of vertigo that threatened to send him tumbling to the ground as his world spun around him, he completed a shaky Curaga rune that barely eased any of his pain. Mustadio quietly placed a potion bottle into his hands.

"We should hurry; I think Ramza's really mad. He just… left us here." The boy looked forlornly after his friends, who continued on, though Meliadoul came back.

"It is fine…" Balthier panted, downing the bitter potion and grimacing at the medicinal taste. "It is better this way; I wanted to tell you something." He allowed his knees to fold, sliding down the wall until he sat with his back to it. Ultima and Ajora were toying with him, for sure.

"This had better not be a love confession to Mustadio, pirate." Meliadoul knelt beside him, unspooling a ream of bandages. "Take off your shirt." Balthier obeyed, and the Holy Knight set about changing his wrappings.

"Mustadio, do you know where your name came from?"

"Er… my last name? Well… my father says that our family was once high nobility, and that science and mechanics runs in our blood. Our family is very old… I was interested when you said you were a sky pirate not only because of the airships, but my dad says that there's a sky pirate in our family, too, way back when before the cataclysm."

Balthier gasped as Meliadoul pulled the bandages tight. "That would be correct."

"How—"

"My name was, once upon a time, Ffamran. Ffamran Mid Bunansa. I am guilty of patricide and responsible for this whole debacle due to my avarice. Our family… ever and always our fate is tied to magical stones."

"Why are you telling this to me now? This makes you my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfa—!" Mustadio stopped as Balthier casually filched one of his pistols without his noticing and pressed it to his head.

"Finish that sentence and I won't hesitate to shoot you, boy."

"Fine, may I call you brother instead?"

"You may call me Balthier."

Mustadio snorted, helping the pirate to his feet and supporting him until he could walk on his own.

"When you said our fate is tied to magical stones, what did you mean?"

Balthier pursed his lips for a moment before relating the tale of Cid and the war over deifacted nethicite, the rise of Bahamut and the Cache of Glabados, and finally, the shipment of auracite that doomed him. Mustadio seemed stricken, his grip almost white-knuckled on his ancestor's arm.

"Then I… I am—by helping Ramza pursue the Zodiac Stones—"

"Fulfilling some sort of unspoken prophecy, perhaps? Don't worry, I was never one to believe in all that, though it does seem repetitive, doesn't it?"

Airships, figureheads more like sad mourners than proud heralds, creaked in the darkness, and in the distance, one crumbled into the abyss, the lonely sound echoing over their heads. Things slithered through cracks in the walls of the nearest machines; things with glinting eyes and sharp teeth. They passed several corpses along the way, all cut down under Ramza's blade. The boy was powerful, there was no doubt of that, but before the leader of the Lucavi, Balthier could not help but wonder if the boy would be able to prevail. Zodiark whimpered.

_What will happen to us should Lady Ultima win? _

_She will kill us as traitors,_ Mateus said grimly. _To her, our refusal of her offer is as a slap in the face, especially from a lesser Esper such as I. _

_But what of me? I never did anything; I have never truly met her, face to face. I just—_

"Lived in a hole, we know," Balthier snorted, ignoring the looks Meliadoul and Mustadio gave him. "Who do you think took you out of it, hm?"

When they turned the corner after navigating the maze of broken airships, they found Agrias and Ramza confronting Folmarv Tengille, who held Alma in front of him like a human shield. Mateus snickered.

"Release my sister, Folmarv! You will not rouse Virgo!" Ramza shouted, holding his sword out in front of him.

Folmarv touched the Leo stone around his neck, smirking, and transformed into Hashmal, morphing into a hume-like figure with bulging muscles and a lion-like head, his body cracking sickeningly as it adjusted to accommodate his extra bulk. Balthier grimaced; Mateus cackled.

_Our methods are much more elegant, are they not, Ffamran? So is our noble appearance much better than that of this stuffed animal lion before us,_ the Esper hissed. Before he knew it, Balthier found himself the reluctant mouthpiece for Mateus, who could not resist giving his once-ally a good tease.

"The years have been hard on you, haven't they, old comrade? Adrammelech, too, from what I saw." Meliadoul's eyes flashed toward him in warning, sensing the subtle personality change.

Hashmal grinned, huge, knife-like teeth gleaming. Balthier was aware that, in a flash, he might find himself a broken doll between the lion's huge claws, but he couldn't move; Mateus was in control, forcing him to appear brave and indifferent when all he wanted to do was run, run like the cowardly pirate he was, to hell with moving on—

Ramza interceded, calling Alma's name and begging her to awake. Hashmal's attention turned away, Balthier turned to the task of wrestling control back from Mateus, who returned his body to him, cackling cruelly as they were forced to engage Hashmal, who had no intention of returning the girl. Under the heavy barrage of blows, the lion was forced to retreat, step after step, until he fell to one knee. The Virgo stone fell from his claws, winking in the gloom as it rolled to a stop near Alma's feet.

_She sleeps under the influence of magick_, Zodiark warned. _If she is awake, it may not be Alma who stares out of those windows of eyes. _The Virgo stone glittered menacingly, and Alma stirred, her eyelids fluttering.

"Ramza? You… you came… is it truly you, or are—are we dead?"

"It is I," he assured her, moving toward her side, but Balthier lunged for the young knight and pulled him back, just as Hashmal roared desperately, sending a wave of earth at them.

"Unhand me!" Ramza cried, struggling to get out of Balthier's grip. "Do you side with Hashmal at last?"

"I've just saved your life! 'Thank you' might be nice," the pirate retorted.

"What?"

Hashmal held a hand aloft, gesturing to the ceiling out of sight high above. Mist and power swirled around him, stirring his mane and the remnants of his clothing.

"Too far we've come… to taste now of defeat… My Lady Angel of Blood… that you should rise, my life I gladly give!" He abruptly exploded in a flash of light and flame, and the floor was awash with steaming blood. The Leo Stone fell to the floor with a tinkle.

Meliadoul froze, her eyes wide, as some of the blood splashed onto her face. With a shaking hand, she wiped it away and stared at the stain on her glove.

"I-i-it's red!" she exclaimed. "How can this be? It's red!" she turned toward Balthier wildly, her face white as his shirt.

"You cannot kill a god," he said quietly. "Only the hume it inhabits. I'm sorry, Meliadoul. The final sacrifice was…"

"Father…"

* * *

The Leo Stone flashed and began to hum, resonating with the Virgo stone. Alma began to scream, clutching her hair and shaking her head, while her hair drained to pure silver. As abruptly as she began shrieking, she stopped, raising her head to view them all with eyes cold and cruel as an executioner.

"I am come once more," she said quietly, and Balthier felt his blood run cold. Ajora of Glabados stretched, straightening Alma's rumpled dress. "Ah, hello, 'Saint Balthazar'. Imagine meeting you here. Have you also returned to help me once more? Your assistance would be duly repaid."

"You killed me, you bloody bastard!" Balthier snarled. "And you think I would help you again? You killed me and dumped my body in a well!" His gun was up and aimed at Ajora's face in the blink of an eye, but Ajora only laughed.

"Oh dear, shoot me and Alma will die, too!"

Ramza shook his head, running forward and grabbing Ajora in a hug. She struggled madly, but Ramza would not let go, and held her tight, whispering to her. The false saint burst into blue flame, and in a smaller flare, the true Alma appeared, separate from the girl in the knight's arms.

"You are all right?" Ramza unceremoniously dropped Ajora and ran to Alma instead, and Balthier snorted at the comical show. Honestly, he had no idea how to treat a lady.

"I will be, but… Ajora, you must kill him quickly, or else—"

Ajora picked himself back up, tossing his head. "Why do you fight me? You cannot win. And you—Balthier, why do _you_ rise against me? T'was not I who brought you back from the dead to fight a pointless battle; Germonique put you up to this. He was the one who cursed me with your vengeful spirit, see?" He held up the page of the shredded Germonique scriptures, and it fluttered innocently in the breeze. Balthier rubbed his temples tiredly.

Why couldn't Ajora understand what he felt? It was not Germonique who killed him and so heinously disposed of the corpse. It was not Germonique who banished him to a thousand years of exile as a weak wisp of something barely more than Mist with a conscience.

It was Ajora. All Ajora.

"You'll never understand. You're too drunk on your own power to ever understand!" Balthier muttered, breaking open Fomalhaut and loading in dark shot. Ajora's face turned very ugly.

"To thwart my coming, you would dare assay? It shall not be. Loyal companions, heed my call—to me! I will suffer spite from neither lord, nor serf!" Ultima demons melted out of the darkness, surrounding them and grinning at them with their horned, skull like faces, leathery wings flapping and muscles rippling as they prowled around the humans who dare invade the Graveyard of Airships.

A flash of light transformed Ajora from a hume to a beautiful woman in a dress the color of fresh spilled blood and white wings.

"Ultima…" Mustadio whispered in awe. Of all the demons they had faced, Ultima was the one who had not become even uglier, but become more beautiful; no longer green-skinned and fastened by her legs to a golden pedestal, she floated above them in all her glory.

"Silly humes," she purred silkily, gathering a ball of Holy light in her hand. "Defiance reaps you naught but death's embrace!" Balthier grabbed Mustadio by his shirt collar and yanked him back as the ball exploded where the boy stood seconds earlier, chanting a Darkga incantation at the same time and directing the miasma of evil magick toward the angel, negating her Holy light.

Ramza and Alma stood together like twin bulwarks on the battlefield, fighting through a storm of magick to get close enough for the knight to use his sword. Meliadoul and Agrias easily dealt with the other Ultima demons, but it was Mustadio who got the first shot in, a Dark reinforced bullet piercing Ultima's paling and biting into her arm. She shrieked and her next attack went wide; it was only by lucky chance that Ramza tripped over a rock and took Alma with him that the pair missed disintegration by an inch. Springing back to his feet, he wove an intricate web of steel around the angel, slicing through her fragilely feathered wings and forcing her to the ground.

"This end to meet… No, not so soon shall I accept defeat," she said summoning a blast of lightning that tossed Alma and Ramza through the air. When the rubble settled, a new creature hovered over them; a beautiful woman, Ultima was no longer.

Her bones clicked and her jaw rattled as she laughed, her face and body nothing but a skull and bones picked clean of any flesh. "Your soul itself will not escape my wrath! And you—Balthier, servant hume, you'll not see the face of your Viera wench again! I'll shred your soul into fragments and devour every last piece!"

"A wench? My, my, so cold and harsh. Are you perhaps jealous, my dear angel?" Balthier asked, weaving another Darkga spell with Zodiark's aid. The Arch Seraph clacked her mandible at them, waving away the cloud of magick with a negligent hand.

"I have told you; defiance does nothing." Her next attack shattered a large stalactite hanging over the uneven battlefield, and boulders rained upon them. Mustadio cried out as a large rock the size of a war chocobo missed him by an inch, then he felt strong hands between his shoulder blades, shoving him out of the rain of stone. When the dust cleared, he saw Ramza straddling Ultima's back, his sword deep in her back.

"You used… the confusion of the rock fall to get behind me… such a clever little boy." Ultima rasped. "Had I but more power… I would crush you like ants, but… I suppose taking you with me would have to suffice."

A blue, white and gold disk of light formed in the air above them, Holy energy rushing toward the center of the sphere before redirecting toward them in a pillar of raw power. Mustadio closed his eyes and waited for the end to come, but to his surprise, when he opened his eyes, he was still in the Graveyard, kneeling on the ground where he had been pushed.

A purple, gold, and black circle, nearly identical to the Holy one, faded out of existence beneath them, the last few winks of Dark spiraling into the gloom.

"You owe me very many things." Zodiark fluttered his wings pleasantly, swinging from his cradle in a self-satisfied way.

"I never thought I would be overjoyed to see a Lucavi," Ramza murmured, while Meliadoul grabbed the baby dragon by the tail and pulled.

"What did you do with Balthier?" she demanded, glaring up at it.

"Ffamran is… not so well." Zodiark confessed. "Mateus and I fear that he will not make it; right now he is living on borrowed time. Should we turn back now, he would die."

"No…" Mustadio whispered. "How? When did he get injured?"

"During the rock fall—that is when it must have happened." Meliadoul pointed to a large bloodstain on the floor. The rock that crushed the sky pirate had been thrown free when Zodiark transformed, but there was no doubt that Balthier had little time to live.

Ignoring the Esper's protests about touching his skin, Meliadoul pressed her hands against his side.

"Balthier, please, answer me!" There was the faintest brush against her mind, and she almost thought she imagined it until she saw a weak flicker of color behind her closed eyes, like a fading candle flame in the dark, miles and miles away. "We'll find some way to save you, don't worry, we'll… we'll…"

Tears were coursing down her burning face, and she did not know whether she was angry or simply sad and hurt. His voice, weak and quiet, was like the hushed whisper of wind in her ears.

_Do not try to feed me lies, my dear,_ Balthier murmured. _If it was not for Zodiark, I would have breathed my last when the boulder first fell upon me. My body from the stomach down was crushed… Meliadoul, there is no saving me now._

"Is there anything we could do?" Mustadio cautiously lay a finger on Zodiark, who snapped his jaws.

"Stop touching me."

_Zodiark will be able to leave this dimension by using the massive power under his command—that will be our parting gift to you. _Balthier paused._ As for me… please, take me back to the Cathedral in Bervenia. There is something I would like to see before I leave, one last time…_

Meliadoul nodded, biting her lip in an effort to stop herself from breaking down completely. "We will get you there, Balthier, we promise."


	13. Like an Eagle Flies

Well, here it is; the end to **Silver Glass**. I hope you guys all enjoyed it; it was really fun for me writing it. I have to admit that this ending is one of the sadder ones I've written, but it's also a little humorous as well. So, without ado, here it is!

Thanks, **Tango-chan**, **dragon-san**! See you in **The Sound of Madness**!

_

* * *

_

Balthier's Log, Page 13

* * *

As soon as Zodiark left the depths of Mullonde, he began to fade, dissolving into Mist that eventually, but slowly, coalesced into Balthier. Mustadio gagged, and Meliadoul covered her mouth in horror at the sight of him, covered in blood from his torso down. Below his stomach, he was barely recognizable as human. Most of the blood was frozen as Mateus frantically worked to preserve what time he had left. His form blurred continuously, stray strands of Mist occasionally rising from his body or simply flaking off and vanishing into the air.

"Is it… bad?" Balthier rasped, eyes closed and face pale. No one answered at first, then Ramza took a shaky breath.

"Very."

"Good… then I look… as bad as I feel…" Balthier smiled faintly, and Meliadoul raised her hand as if she would slap him.

"Don't joke about this, Balthier! We have to get you to Bervenia, and it was much more convenient when you were Zodiark and well!"

"I'm sorry…"

They ended up making a stretcher out of Meliadoul's cloak and some large branches, and Balthier was too tired to even register the pain as they shifted his broken body onto it. He drifted in and out of oblivion, while Agrias supplied him a constant stream of phoenix downs and potions. The sad party reached Bervenia by nightfall, and made it past the drunken night guard with no issue, straggling toward the Cathedral.

"The crypt… in the crypt…"

"In Faram's name, what do you want down there?" Mustadio whimpered, but knocked on the cathedral door anyway. The nuns who opened the door were the same two who let him out of the crypt when he first arrived, and they were only able to gape at the ragged mess of a man the heretics bore through the doorway, not even attempting to stop them.

"This is the place?" Meliadoul raised her torch, curiously looking at the sarcophagi surrounding them. "Do you want us to open this one?"

"Yes… and rub off the dust… tell me whose grave it is." Balthier cracked open an eye as Alma briskly shaved off the millennia of sand and grit, freezing as the first letter was slowly revealed.

"It's a _B_… followed by _A…L…T…_ it's yours, Balthier," she said quietly.

"Should've known," he sighed, stroking the edge of the stone coffin with a shaking hand. Meliadoul shoved back the lid, dirt showering to the ground. The corpse was still there, twisted in agony and screaming silently, hands grasping at life. "That does not look comfortable."

"You look so pained…" Meliadoul whispered, touching one of the shriveled, curled hands.

"I was shot and drowned, if you remember," Balthier said grumpily, mustering enough energy to quirk his eyebrow. "I must thank you for bringing me here… is this what it feels like to be at peace?" He was fading into gentle whirls and eddies of Mist, spiraling away into the darkness. Meliadoul smiled, though her eyes gleamed wetly in the gloom.

"Hurry, pirate. Lady Fran is waiting, though we will miss you, too."

"Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it. Being dead is awfully boring, I'm afraid. I'll drop by if I remember you."

The wall of silver glass was crumbling, shattering away into tiny pieces like glittering dust or tiny jewels to admit blinding light. Beyond it was _her_, fair as the day they met beneath the cloudy skies of Nilbasse. He vaguely remembered wondering if the sun had come before him, in the form of a Viera, to incinerate the clouds and let the light in again.

"How now, Fran, please stop it, you're blinding me," he said childishly as he took her hand and followed her away.

In the crypt, a faint sigh echoed through the vaulted chambers as the last few wisps of him disappeared. Mustadio looked mournfully at the corpse in the sarcophagus, which all that was left to commemorate the fact that Balthier had ever been among them, and to his surprise, it _moved_. The hands, once curled into claws grasping desperately for life, relaxed, collapsing against the chest shattered by gunfire, and the gristly scream faded, the skull rolling slightly to the side as its mouth shut. Smiling faintly, Mustadio hefted the coffin lid and slid it shut for the last time.

* * *

…_one year later…_

Mustadio finished putting the last touches on his remodeled hovercycle. It was in surprisingly good shape, even after having sat in the bottom of a dungeon for over a thousand years, and only took a few replacement parts to have it up and running. When his son came home, lugging the piece of lost technology with him, Besrudio Bunansa had jumped up and down with joy and nearly abandoned his son for the new machine.

He jumped at the quiet tap at the door; Besrudio poked his head in. "There's a lass by the name of Meliadoul Tengille at the front door. Says she knows you, she does."

"I will be right out to greet her, father." Mustadio wiped his hands off on a greasy rag, and opened the door to admit Meliadoul, still clothed from head to toe in green Templar's robes. "What brings you all the way to Goug?" he asked, gesturing for her to sit in the one chair not covered in blueprints or mechanical pieces. He swept another pile to the floor and collapsed onto the stool revealed.

"I am on my way to visit Balthier's grave in Bervenia," she said, studying a picture on the floor that looked suspiciously like the _Strahl._ "I imagine that he would be quite lonely and bored by now with no one to talk to but the other soulless corpses down there."

"He moved on, remember? There is no one to talk to down there." Mustadio said sharply, but softened his voice as he continued. "I would like to go with you, if I may. Is that why you came?"

She nodded, clasping her hands together. "It is hard to believe it has been a year since all that… and it seems not a lot has changed. Orran Durai—you remember him, yes? He was burned at the stake as a heretic for releasing the true story of what happened to us, and what happened with 'Saint Balthazar.'"

Mustadio sighed. "The Church will one day fall, without the Lucavi to push it along. Would you like to ride my hovercycle there? It will be faster than going by boat, then by foot, I imagine."

Besrudio showering words of caution upon them, they took to the air. Meliadoul fancied she could hear _his_ voice whispering in her ears, just like when she was stuck to Zodiark, or when she looked to Mateus, the Corrupt, for solace and guidance when she knew not how she would deal with her father, but she knew he was gone.

They touched down just outside the external graveyard; once in the crypt, Meliadoul lay several white roses on top of Balthier's coffin, and Mustadio curiously looked at the other wilted flowers nearby.

"Agrias comes here, sometimes, with Alma, but Ramza does not visit. I do not think they ever would have really gotten along, even if Balthier did not die in the rock fall." Meliadoul explained, before turning back to the grave.

"Well," she began. "I don't really have much to say to you, I am afraid. Not much has changed since you left; the church is still in control, only the Lucavi do not sully the ranks of its clergy or allies. Alma's "funeral" was a little while after we dropped you off here, and I think you would have liked to see it. You probably would have thought it was funny because Alma wasn't actually in the coffin they buried, but they didn't even afford Ramza a funeral."

Mustadio clutched her arm when the natural light filtering into the crypt from chinks in the stone walls flickered, as if something or someone had been listening at the cracks and suddenly moved away. "M-Meliadoul? C-c-can you see him or hear him? Is he a-a-actually here?" he squeaked. Meliadoul jumped.

"I don't know," she murmured. "Why do you ask?"

"I saw something move outside…"

"Don't tell me you think it's him. After the clergy found out that we had removed the sarcophagus lid, they sealed it shut with masonry cement."

"It's not like I would have wanted to see his shriveled, moldy body anyway," Mustadio grimaced, and Meliadoul laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls, before moving toward the stairway.

When they emerged into the open air and made for the hovercycle, they stopped at the sight of a small, but ferocious looking tawny eagle perched on the back of the passenger chair. It shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, and clacked its wickedly sharp beak at them, beating its wings. Mustadio gulped, holding his hands up in his best "I'm unarmed" gesture toward the bird of prey, stopping where he stood.

"I think we have a small problem…" he stammered, turning toward his companion, only to find her moving toward the eagle uncertainly.

"Tired with the afterlife already, pirate?" Meliadoul murmured, and the eagle ruffled its feathers in an affronted manner, puffing up indignantly. "You're Balthier, aren't you? You said you would come back to visit." She swore he was smiling, but birds cannot smile; instead, his curiously grey-gold eyes almost twinkled with mischeivious humor as he preened self-importantly. "Vain as usual, I see."

"What about Fran?" Mustadio asked, finally courageous enough to stand next to them. Balthier stopped admiring his shining golden-brown feathers long enough to shrug negligently, hissing in dismissal. Mustadio jumped. "You know, it's almost a pity I don't understand you, even if I am touching you, because there's a lot of things I want to ask about airship design and propulsion, but I don't think you can talk even if you wanted to." A thought occurred to him, and an evil grin split his face. Knowing that the reincarnated sky pirate could not come up with a witty retort in his present situation, Mustadio continued, "Well, Ramza would be happy, at least. He always thought you talked too much." At this, Balthier squawked indignantly and took a vicious peck at his young descendant, before flying away to perch in the nearby trees with his back to them. Meliadoul laughed as she mounted the hovercycle, and Mustadio slid into the driver's position.

"I would not have insulted him, Mustadio," she said mirthfully as the machinist started the engine. "Balthier knows where you live, and I wouldn't be surprised if a white gift is presented to your head as you leave your workshop one day."

"I'm counting on the fact that even as a bird, he'll still be a gentleman," Mustadio grumbled, though he eyed Balthier warily. As the hovercycle rose, the eagle spread its wings and rose with them, before with a mischeivious glint in its eye, shot away to the southeast toward Goug like a feathered arrow from a Viera's bow. "Ah… looks like I have a lot to learn about airships, doesn't it? A stupid bird can fly faster than me!"


End file.
